


Safe

by TuppingLiberty



Series: Dream Daddy - Safe Universe [1]
Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: All the best cowboys have daddy issues, Brian ending, Brian is sweet and soft, Daddy Issues, Dadsona has daddy issues, Dream Daddy date spoilers, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, POV First Person, by which I mean, smut in the epilogue, toxic masculinity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2018-12-15 19:41:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11812860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TuppingLiberty/pseuds/TuppingLiberty
Summary: Okay, I have a lot of love for all of the characters, but for some reason the Brian storyline really struck a chord with me. The amount of Brian/Dadsona fics are small, but the works are amazing, so I thought I'd add another to the mix.This is basically a retelling of the Brian storyline, with dialogue from the game, and my own background for Dadsona. Dadsona is Jared Hudson, a small computer geek with daddy issues that he covers with Competitive Dad mode against Brian.Chapter 1-4 are the main story and are T.Chapter 5-on are epilogue, and each chapter will have a rating. 5 and 6 are rated E for smut.





	1. The set up

“Pretty cool party, huh?” Amanda kicks a pebble along the sidewalk as we walk the relatively short distance home from Joseph’s place. The cul-de-sac looks good like this, in the pinks and purples of the sunset.

“I felt like I was at a networking event,” I admit. I am not- not good at this kind of stuff. Socializing. Making new friends. Alex was always the outgoing one, the one who forced people on me, but, you know, in a good way. Still, a way that had made it increasingly awkward since he passed. Were they my friends or Alex’s friends? The answer had become unclear to me, and I’d kind of - stopped hanging out with most of the people who’d known Alex.

I clear my throat and go for the joke. “I’m gonna get LinkedIn notifications out of this, I just know it.”

Amanda rolls her eyes at me as I unlock the front door and throw the keys down on the nearest flat surface. “You’re missing an opportunity here, pops.”

“Yeah, what’s that?” I settle into my couch and pull my laptop over, ready to pretend to work. A sock hits me in the face and I look up, glaring at Amanda. “I really hope that was a clean one.”

“There were a bunch of cool dads at that party, and I think you should get to know them better. Wasn’t that one of the reasons we moved here?”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to say, _it’s a safer neighborhood,_ but it would be an excuse, and we both know it. Alex has been gone for several years at this point, but his ghost had never been exorcised from the old place. It may not be a brand new start for Amanda, who is attending the same school and can easily drive to her friends’ places, but it is _supposed_ to be a new start for me. Symbolically. I mean, I still have the same job - technical writing and consultation. But with Amanda heading to college, I need- I need to put myself out there, make some new, non-Alex related friends. Be my own person again.

This idea is further cemented by Amanda announcing that she’s heading out with friends for the night. I stifle my knee-jerk fatherly worry, set a curfew, and remind myself that this Amanda-less situation is going to be happening every single night for the rest of my life, soon.

\----------------------

Amanda misses curfew, which leads to me pacing the kitchen floor, which leads to a fight, and a sleepless night, as I wonder what would have happened if Alex had still been around. If I’d had another adult around - would we have worried together, and would that have made it easier or harder? Would he have talked me down? Suddenly I very much wish I wasn’t alone.

_You’re not going to be like this when I’m off at school, are you?_

Amanda’s last retort rings hollow in my ear.

In the morning, we apologize to each other. “Team Hudson,” a fist bump, and shared eggs. My little girl is an 18-year-old. Some insane folks somewhere would consider that an adult, and I have to accept it.

And part of accepting it is making new friends. Somebody I can talk to, dad-to-dad, about the kind of thing that happened the night before. Some way to be- be a little less lonely. “Can you help me set up my Dadbook?”

Amanda’s smile feels genuine as she guides me through setting up my profile. I let her take a photo of me for the profile - and barely wince at my messy brown waves, which I immediately tuck back into a bun, the chunky black glasses that Amanda assures me make me look like a hipster but I feel like make me look exactly like the pale nerd I am, or the string of quarter-life crisis earrings lining my ear that Alex always teased me for. Well, whatever, it’s not like this is a dating profile. And all the dads on the cul-de-sac have already seen me. No use feeling inadequate. _Cough._

\--------------------------

I dick around on Dadbook for way longer than I should, considering my current deadline. I send a note off to Craig, who seems like the safest friend bet to my mind, because yeah, he knew me before, but he knew me pre-Alex. No unexorcised ghosts there.

I hesitate with the others. They’d all been friendly at the barbeque - I think of Robert and mentally added an “ish” to that friendly _-_ but still, I hesitate. I liked Hugo, but don’t want to put Amanda in the awkward situation of seeing one of her teachers be chummy with her dad. Sure, I could  probably use it as leverage, but Amanda is eighteen now, and I need to stop thinking that way. On the other hand, Joseph seems like the kind of guy I could talk to about Amanda and the curfew situation; he seems like he could keep me calm and grounded and give me perspective.

Then I think of his kids and Mary and - yeah. There’s something weird going on in that household, and I don’t necessarily want to be there when it all implodes on them.

I automatically skip over Brian, too, then hesitate again, my cursor hovering over his profile picture. Childishly, I stick my cursor up his nostril and laugh quietly to myself. The sound startles the silence of the living room, and I jerk, then clear my throat, flush, and move the cursor.

Something about Brian bothers me, more than the one-up-manship he seems to revel in, but I can’t really put my finger on it. I don’t really want to extend an olive branch here, but...

I think back to how well Amanda and Daisy had taken to each other. Despite the age difference, despite a lot of things, they’d been having fun at the barbeque. It is, if Amanda works it correctly, and I know she will, a perfect babysitting opportunity.

So - even if the idea of hanging out with Brian again already has me cringing and my back bristling, I click on his profile - solely for the love of my daughter.

_Hey! I’m Brian! I spend most of my days hanging out with my awesome daughter and thinking up new ways to grill things. If you like fishing then we’ll get along!_

I take a better look at his profile picture, trying not to think about how he seems like my opposite in every way. Big where I’m scrawny, full beard where I can barely grow anything in the whole month of no shave November, burly outdoorsman where I’m a geek, friendly smile on his face where I feel stupid and introverted and scared in the one Amanda had posted for me.

_Amanda._

Right, not only am I doing this for Amanda, but Amanda is a kick-ass daughter. As in, she can (metaphorically, of course) kick Daisy’s ass in any field.

Or at least provide her with a good female influence, I admonish myself with a blush. Right. _Try not to let the competition go to your head, Jared._

I click to message Brian and set up the 'play-date.' Mini-golf with a side of friendly competition. Well. _Well._


	2. Mini-Golf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first 'date' - mini golf
> 
> CW: implied homophobia, internalized homophobia (in the past, because of Jared's daddy issues)

It’s undeniable that Amanda and Daisy are already getting along like fast friends. Brian and I share a glance over their excited chatter about buried treasure, and Brian almost looks - grateful? I don’t take too much time to analyze it, because- because- because of a really good reason, I’m sure.

Brian strokes his beard - seriously, is he showing off his beard-growing prowess? - and raises an eyebrow at me. “You a gamblin’ man?”

“I know when to hold ‘em,” I joke, something warm spreading through my chest when Brian laughs heartily at that.

“How about the loser buys drinks tonight?”

I still. We hadn’t made plans to go out after the game, and drinks definitely means sans-kids time, and is Brian- my gaydar isn’t _that_ broken, is it? No, no of course not, this is just friendly man drinks. Dad drinks. After doing dad things. Like mini-golf. Plus, it gives Amanda a chance to show Brian her babysitting skills. She _is_ trying to save up for that concert in the summer. Sure, I can do drinks. For Amanda. “Alright.”

And then I totally stop talking, right?

_Right._

“How about we make it a bit more interesting?” my mouth says, betraying my body, mind, and soul.

“I’m listening.”

“The loser has to mow the winner’s lawn this weekend.” Well. Actually, that doesn’t sound so bad. _Okay mouth, you’re off the hook._ Plus Amanda and I have been perfecting our golf game.

“Well, my yard’s pretty big. Are you prepared to take that on?”

In another time, I would have laughed at the possible innuendo, but my mind is overtaken by the Competitive Dad spirit. I’m going to win, and I’m going to brag about it. “I’m very good at golf, you know. Hole in one, every time.” _Dammit mouth, this is the last time I give you the reins._ _(Ha, yeah right,_ some part of my brain retorts.)

Amanda stares at me. Daisy stares at me. Brian stares at me. They can all presumably tell I am lying through my teeth. Fuck, I really, really need to get a leash on my mouth at some point.

“I’m looking forward to seeing that happen,” Brian finally murmurs, a little smile on his face.

 _Me, too,_ I think nervously. “May the best Dad win.” We shake on it.

\-----------------------

Halfway through, and I am winning - _crushing -_ Brian. I’m having the best golf game of my life, and it can’t have come at a better time. Sure, every hole-in-one amps up the pressure to perform, but that’s fine. It’s all totally fine.

Amanda pulls me aside after the ninth hole. “Your eye is twitching.”

“What? No, it’s not,” I respond, my left eye twitching in the process.  Amanda raises her eyebrows at me, and it stops me cold.

Christ, there are times when Alex’s genes shine straight through on Amanda’s face.

“We’re out here to have fun, remember? It’s just a game.”

I shake myself out of it, and manage a nod at her. “You’re right. It is just a game.” Burrowing back into Competitive Dad mode banishes thoughts of Alex and the past. “A game with extremely high stakes. A game we’re currently winning.”

I watch Amanda smirk - at least _that_ isn’t the Alex Hudson patented smirk, but something all Amanda’s own - and hit her next ball into the parking lot. She looks back at me with a deliberate shrug and a little, “Oops,” and I can’t help but smile.

Despite Amanda’s interference, it’s easier to focus on being competitive than being social, and I slip back into the zone. We beat Brian and Daisy’s score, though they’re all smiles.

Brian leans on his rented putter and nods in my direction. “Man, that was some good shooting there, Jared.”

I find myself grinning back. “I have bested you on the field of battle, Brian.”

Brian’s eyes meet mine, and something in them shocks me down to my toes. _What…?_

Amanda and Daisy’s banter pulls me away from the electricity of Brian’s gaze, but I feel a blush tinge my cheeks that has nothing to do with the heat of the evening. When Amanda starts to take Daisy back to the Harding’s place, I _almost_ protest. Amanda gives me a pointed stare, and I remember that I’m _supposed_ to be meeting new people. Making friends. Right. I can do this. _Alex would want me to do this._

There is, conveniently enough, a tiki bar attached to the mini-golf course, and Brian and I walk companionably toward it as the sun starts to set. I take a deep breath - nothing can beat Maple Bay in the fall, even if the humidity makes my waves turn into frizz that’s now trying its hardest to escape the messy bun I’d thrown it up in earlier.

The Freaky Tiki is almost laughable in its kitschy ambiance, and Brian’s imposing figure stands out like a sore thumb. ‘Course, I probably do too, as the scrawny computer nerd. My dad always said he couldn’t take me anywhere. I sigh. _One victory drink and I'm out of here,_ I tell myself.

True to his word, Brian signals the bartender over and orders two Pineapples of Hospitality, whatever that is. What it is, is apparently pineappley, rummy, flamey - no, seriously, we have to blow the drinks out when we get them.

“Usually I just like to… I don’t know… _drink_ my drinks,” I say, a little smile perking up my lips as I take the first sip. It’s good. Fruity, but with a punch.

“If you don’t like yours, I’ll take it.” Brian’s smile is slightly defensive, like he’s had to defend his choice of alcoholic beverage before. I remember him drinking beer at the barbeque, and wonder suddenly if he ordered this for my ‘sake’, like maybe he thinks this is the kind of unmanly drink I’ll like. Like maybe I wouldn’t be able to handle whiskey, or something.

Except he looks like he’s drinking his happily. And the bartender seemed to know his order. And- and maybe big burly guys could like rum drinks with umbrellas just fine, Jared. _Come on, what decade is your mind stuck in?_

“And miss out on the taste of victory? I don’t think so.” I take another sip and add this new information about Brian into my brain rolodex. _Likes fruity drinks_ slots in under _Competitive_ and _Friendly. Too Friendly?_

I try to get down to the business at hand - the bet, the lawn maintenance - and I find myself _teasing._ Teasing? _Really, Jared?_

And Brian’s teasing back. Giving as good as he gets, of course, because- because he’s competitive, of course. I mean, it’s right there in the rolodex, right at the top, for a reason. Brian, competitive, Craig, jock, Mat, awkward like me, et cetera.

Awkwardly (like Mat would!), I change the subject to Extreme Makeover: Deck Edition, because I have a secret yearning, like all dads, for an amazing deck.

Brian makes a scoffing sound, putting me off a bit. “I hate this show, it’s so clearly fake.”

I hold myself back from rolling my eyes. “Well, yeah. It’s reality TV, of course it’s fake. Who cares?”

“I care! I’m a general contractor, I work with decks all the time. There’s no way they’re renovating those decks in a matter of two days. It’s impossible. That’s a three week job, minimum.”

The passion in his voice is kind of adorable, but now I’m stuck, feeling stubborn about my position: “So you want them to cover that all extensively? It can’t be that interesting to watch a bunch of dudes slave over a deck for that long. Nobody would watch it.” _Okay, maybe a little harsh, Jared._

“I don’t like any of those home improvement shows. I want to watch stuff that’s real.” Brian bristles over his pineapple.

I feel bad for being harsh earlier and let my lips tip up into a small smile. “Like Long Haul Paranormal Ice Road Ghost Truckers.”

Brian smiles back at me, leaning in to whisper, “I have terrible news for you, Jared.”

“No...no… not them, too!” I throw my hand up to my head in fake distress, manage to hold it for about five seconds, then snort. My hand flies down to my mouth as I blush from my snort. _Oops._

“That’s the awful truth,” Brian says, not even taking the opportunity to make fun of me for snorting because he’s just such a Good Dad™. “Not the ghosts, though. Those are real. Trucks just don’t have emergency escape buttons.” Now Brian is snickering into his pineapple, his eyes glittering.

“I’ve been lied to for so long,” I mutter with fake outrage, sipping on my drink again. “So you’re a general contractor?”

“Sure am!” Brain’s voice bustles with pride. “I actually helped plan the cul-de-sac we live in.”

“Wow. Nice work,” I answer sincerely. Seriously, the cul-de-sac is beautiful.

“Yeah, kinda took after the footsteps of my old man.”

I stiffen. Dad talk is not- I swallow, looking down at my drink, trying to keep the conversation light and pleasant. “He was a general contractor, too?”

Brian hesitates before going on, like he can sense my distress. “The best. He practically built half of this town with his bare hands. It’s weird how you spend your whole life trying not to become your father, then you wake up one day and there you are.”

I study my pineapple intently, giving a half nod. _I will not become my father, I will not become my father, I will not-_

“But I get to work with my hands and it pays more than enough to take care of my daughter, so it’s an absolute dream job. For me, at least.” Brian’s sturdy fingers are tapping along the bamboo bar, distracting me, and I feel a little spike of gratitude.

I’m impressed, despite myself. I can build a computer in an afternoon, but I have a pile of patio furniture that has been waiting for months - like, all of the summer months, considering it’s now fall - to be put together. Maybe the pile of patio furniture makes me feel inadequate. Maybe every time I see the pile in the garage, I hate myself a little. Maybe it’s begun to felt like a pile of my biggest insecurities. Either way, Brian’s handiness suddenly rubs me the wrong way, and I let the Competitive Dad swamp over any other bothersome feelings.

Brian is looking at me a little too kindly, like maybe it’s bordering on pity, so I clear my throat. Competitive Dad doesn’t have to be an asshole. I need to be civil here. Amanda likes hanging out with Daisy, and it could be a good source of money. Amanda. Daisy. _Daisy._ “So… Daisy seems pretty smart for her age.”

It’s the perfect thing to say, and I mentally pat myself on the back. Brian lights up, in a way I completely understand, being Amazing Amanda’s dad. “Yeah, she’s a genius.”

It’s an expected response, after all. What parent doesn’t think their child is exceptional? But Brian blushes and looks into his drink. “She definitely doesn’t get it from her old man, though. It’s actually a little embarrassing. She beats me at Scrabble constantly.”

I smile. “To be fair, Scrabble is really hard. I can barely make good words when I have the whole alphabet in front of me, let alone seven letters.”

Brian laughs, and I feel myself warm, squirming on my stool a little. Hey, maybe I _can_ do the whole ‘making friends’ thing without Amanda or Alex to wingman.

I try again, because I want to keep things friendly, of course. No other reason. “So… you have a dog.” _A really cute dog._

“Sure do!”

“Hmm,” I murmur playfully. “I can’t quite remember what he looks like.”

Brian doesn’t take the hint, which is endearing in and of itself- _Yup, just being friendly, Jared._ “Oh, he’s a little corgi. Always has a handkerchief around his neck.”

“Yeah, I’m not getting it. I think I might need a visual reminder to jog my memory. If you… happen to have any pictures of said dog… maybe on your phone...”

Brian’s eyes light up again, and he gives another belly laugh that definitely does nothing to the squirmy feeling in my stomach _at all._ “Jared, if you wanted to see pictures of Maxwell, you could have just asked!”

“Show me the goods, then,” I reply with a smile.

We spend the next few minutes sharing cute pictures of children and pets on our phones. I realize belatedly that I’ve scooted closer to Brian to do so. Our thighs are practically touching. I clear my throat and scoot back a little, nodding to the gigantic fish hanging above Brian’s head in a bid to change the subject. I remember from his profile that he loves fishing. “Cool fish,” I offer, just a trifle pathetically.

“It’s definitely fake.”

 _You’re really concerned with fakeness,_ I want to retort. “Wh- really?”

Brian leans in a little closer, conspiratorially, and brags about a time he almost caught a fish that big. Keyword, _almost._ I want to be repelled by his obvious brag - the one-up-manship again - but he’s so good natured about being knocked out by the monster fish, I have to laugh with him. And then he drops a Hemingway _and_ a _Moby Dick_ reference, and I find myself doubting his earlier claim that his daughter doesn’t get her genius from him.

“Ah man, fishing’s the life. Haven’t gone enough lately. You go fishing?”

“Actually… I have a confession to make.” _Wait, what am I doing? Why am I having this inexplicable urge to be vulnerable with him? I can’t tell him that I’m terrible at fishing, that my father-_ I take a deep breath and cover my underlying feelings about fishing with Competitive Dad patented boldness. “No one can out-fish me. I’m simply the best out there.”

_What...the...fuck...Jared._

Brian beams at me. “Okay, since you’re such a pro, I’m taking you fishing. Do you want to go fishing?”

_Take the out, Jared._

“Wait, don’t answer that. Yes, you do. We’re going fishing,” Brian replies conclusively.

_Oh no._

“Oh...uh...I don’t know…” I flounder. _Ha,_ flounder. Even when I’m flustered, I can Dad Joke.

“Come on. It’ll be a blast. I know the perfect place. I’ll bring some beers, we can just sit back, relax, and reel in some trout. We’ll bring the kids with us. Come onnnnn, you know you want to.”

I sigh. Weirdly, some tiny little part of me _does_ want to. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

Brian gives me an exuberant high five, and I can’t help but feel a little enthusiastic, too. _Okay. Maybe this could be good._ _Doesn’t have to be like that one time with Dad-_

“Yes! Maybe we’ll see who can catch the most fish, so I can get you mowing my lawn,” Brian says enthusiastically, winking.

 _Shit. Competitive Dad engaged._ “You can try to beat me, but they don’t call me Jared “Good at Catching Fish” Hudson for nothing.” _No one calls me that._

“Sounds like it’ll be a scrap.” Brian looks way too enthusiastic now. Does he know my secret?

I smile back weakly. “Yup.”

We finish our drinks, and make our way outside, into the warmth of the fall evening.

“Until next time?” Brian asks softly, a small hit of smile.

“This is a great oppor-tuna-ty for friendship!” I offer back, because again, aforementioned Dad Joke skills.

Brian claps me on the back for that one, but it’s not threatening, despite our size difference. It’s strangely gentle, instead. “You’re _krilling_ me with these puns, Jared.”

I smile. _“Mullet_ over. You’ll come around to the fish-related Dad Jokes in no time.” It makes me laugh, and Brian’s laughing too, and honestly, we sound like we’ve had way more than just one pineapple - no matter how much rum was in it.

Brian extends his hand, and we share a firm shake. His eyes are warm - with the fire of competition, to be sure. _This is going to become a whole thing, isn’t it?_ I think to myself.

 _A_ thing, _huh?_ My brain whispers back, which I promptly ignore.

\-------------

Back at the house, Amanda and I settle into our regular positions on the couch. “So. How was your hang with Brian? He wasn’t too spicy about his crushing defeat, was he?” Amanda asks as she offers me a cookie.

I think back. “Nah. He was pretty gracious about it. Like, frustratingly gracious.”

“Yeah, how dare that guy have some decency?” Amanda retorts in the best sarcasm I taught her. Then she sighs, and looks at me seriously. “Come on, Dad, he seems like a neat dude.”

I shrug. “I think so? I don’t know, the guy loves a good competition.” Amanda does the eyebrow raising thing again and I cough. “But then again, apparently so do I.” I hastily change the subject to Amanda’s evening.

When she’s finished telling me about their night, she looks over into my eyes. “I really like hanging out with Daisy. Are you going to hang out with Brian again?”

The message is clear. _Don’t fuck this up for Amanda and Daisy._ Well, hopefully Amanda wouldn’t have put it quite in those terms. Not in my earshot, anyway. “He wants to go fishing,” I reply nonchalantly.

“Oh.”

“I told him I was an amazing fisherman.”

“You hate fishing.”

“I know.”


	3. Fishing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second 'date' - fishing
> 
> Plus, I wanted Jared to have a friend, and Craig is a great bro. ;)
> 
> CW: implied homophobia, internalized homophobia (in the past, because of Jared's daddy issues)

“So, Amanda got into HIA,” I puff out, running alongside Craig.

“HIA?” He’s not winded at all, which is annoying as hell, but then again, look at the guy. He’s earned it.

“Horne Institute for the Arts.”

Craig whistles. “Good for her. Good job, Dad.”

I shoot him a grin as we come to the bottom of The Hill. _Oh god._ “I mean, she deserves, like, 90% of the credit.”

“Generous of you,” Craig replies with a laugh. We jog in place for a few seconds looking at The Hill before Craig holds out his fist for a bump. “You can do this, bro.”

I bump back as we start up the killer hill. Coming out with Craig is...fun… for the most part. ‘Course, we always reach the point in the run where I just want to quit and drown myself in a cookies ‘n cream shake. But finishing with Craig always makes me feel empowered, and it has been great catching up on old times. My body doesn’t look like Craig's - or Brian’s - by any means. I’m still pretty scrawny. But I’m working on it.  And I’m mostly suppressing my urge to ask Craig to show me how to lift weights so I can have muscles, like-

“So what’s up with you and Brian?” Craig asks, halfway up the hill, which seems like cruel and unusual punishment.

I nearly trip over my feet. “What- what- do you mean?” I huff out.

“Bro, chill. I was just wondering if there was anything, you know, _going on_ there.”

“Don’t _‘going on’_ there me, Cahn!” I struggle the next few feet.

“So something is, then.”

Somehow I get even more hot than I already am, sweat dripping. “No, nothing is _going on_ there. Our kids like to hang out. Amanda has been babysitting. No big deal.”

“Amanda’s been babysitting so that you two could hang out,” Craig points out, still sounding infuriatingly cool and composed despite the climb.

“We’ve been hanging out so that Amanda could babysit,” I counter. “She’s, uh, saving up. For a concert. And college. Being a responsible young woman.”

We reach the top of the hill and I bend over, holding my knees and catching my breath.

“Uh huh.” Craig sinks into some calf stretches.

“There’s nothing _going on._ I don’t even know if he’s, you know-”

“Oh, he is.”

My ears go red and I turn swiftly to Craig. “He is?” I choke out. “I mean- what is he?” I choke again. “I mean, you shouldn’t be telling me this if he doesn’t want anyone to know.”

Craig looks hurt. “You think I’d out someone? Bro.”

There’s enough censure in that one syllable to have me apologizing guiltily. “Sorry, bro.”

“I mean, you’re not wrong. I’m surprised he hasn’t told you himself, and I guess I should respect that.”

I nod, determined to leave it at that as we start walking back down the hill. I last about a minute. “But how did _you_ find out?”

Craig laughs, clapping one of his ridiculously huge arms around my shoulders. “We have a book club.”

“What?!” I sputter.

“At the Coffee Spoon. Me, Hugo, Brian, Damien, Mat. Sometimes we snag Joseph, Mary or Robert, depending on the book. We do a book every other month, since we’re all pretty busy. Brian normally chooses something his girl has read, so he can keep up. It’s kind of super adorable.”

 _It_ is _kind of super adorable._ “That’s, uh. So you guys chat about other stuff, obviously.”

Craig shrugs. “Stuff comes up. It’s book club, the first rule of book club is-”

“Don’t talk about book club?”

“No, we went with a different one - what happens in book club, stays in book club. Sometimes we need an outlet, you know?” Craig smiles at me.

It sounds amazing, and it makes me anxious. “Wait - does me not being invited to book club mean I’m totally uncool and everyone in the cul-de-sac hates me?”

Craig laughs. “Nah, bro, you’re totally cool. You should join us. This month, it’s _Flowers for Algernon._ My girls, this time. They’re reading it next month in class. I may have sweetened up the teacher to give me advance knowledge.”

“That good ol’ Cahn charm,” I murmur, smiling.

“You got it, bro.”

\---------------------------------------------------

 **Brian:** Hey! Daisy and I are going fishing tomorrow. Are you in or out?

The notification - Amanda told me those are what those little red boxes are on my apps - pops up from Dadbook, and I happily put my work away to read it.

 _Oh, right. I said I was going to do that, huh._ I swallow. I have to accept, bad past experiences be damned.

 **Jared:** Sounds great, man! Super excited to catch all those fish. And my lawn could use another good mowing.

_Because when you’re in too deep, the only way out is to dig yourself further._

Brian informs me that he’ll be picking us up earlier than the crack of dawn, and I say yes, because I’m an idiot.

“Amanda!” I call, in a slight panic. She walks into the living room, biting down on her string cheese like some type of monster, and it effectively distracts me for all of three seconds.

When I finally tell her about fishing, she groans at me harder than when I’d razzed her about the cheese. “Do you remember last summer how I applied for a job at that coffee shop across town?”

“Uhh.” I chew my lip. I feel like I _should_ remember, but I don’t. I swallow my pride. “Give me a refresher.”

She crosses her arms and rolls her eyes at me. “During the interview, they asked me if I knew how to work an espresso machine, and I really wanted the job, so I lied and said yes.”

She looks at me expectantly. I swallow nervously. _I don’t remember this at all._

“On that first morning, there was a line out the door and within half an hour, I severely burned my hand and they told me to go home and never come back. I still have a scar from that.”

“Aha! I remember that!” I say triumphantly, and she just rolls her eyes again. “What does that have to do with fishing?”

“The burn is a metaphor, Dad.”

“I don’t get it.” _I really don’t get it._

“You can lead a horse to water,” Amanda sighs.

“What do horses have to do with fish? And burns?”

“Dad, please. I don’t get your obsession with competing against Brian.” She looks at me sadly, like she pities me. She probably does.

“You wouldn’t understand. It’s a Dad thing.”

Hands on her hips, eyes narrowed, she arches one brow. “Please try explaining it to me.”

“It’s just- He just thinks that he’s so much better than me and he purposefully reminds me of that whenever he can. It’s like he _has_ to one-up me. I have to beat him at his own game.” _Right? Yeah. That’s totally right. That’s what I’m doing here._

“Is that what you think is happening here?” Amanda says, echoing my thoughts almost exactly.

Nervous, I rub the back of my neck. “Yeah. That’s what’s happening here.”

“Alright, Pops.” With a last sad shake of her head, Amanda wishes me goodnight.

\---------------

The last time I went fishing, I was about nine. My dad woke me up one morning and told me to get dressed and meet him downstairs. It was still dark out, and I had no idea what was going on, but before I knew it, we were both alone on a freezing cold lake. Gradually it changed from freezing to hot and muggy, air thick with bugs. I picked at mosquito bites while my dad sat in stony silence, fishing pole in one hand and a beer in the other. We didn’t catch anything.

It’s not a pleasant memory to rehash. I’d known, for some time, that my dad was disappointed in me. I was scrawny. I was a nerd. I was… gay. Funny, how bringing up that memory makes me hesitate over my orientation, like I’m nine years old all over again. _I’m gay, dammit, and scrawny, and a nerd, and that’s okay._ All things nine year old me would have died saying.

On the long drive home, my father bought me a pack of cigarettes and didn’t say a thing. Guess he thought he could man me up that way.

My fingers claw into the sheets involuntarily as I remember crumpling up the pack and tossing them away as soon as Dad was out of my sight. My thoughts turn to Brian. Brian, who’s daughter is a nerd. He loves Daisy with all his heart. He doesn’t want to change her. He just wants her to live the best life possible.

With those thoughts running through my head, it’s not a surprise when the jumbled up nightmare hits me as soon as I’m made vulnerable by sleep. I haven’t had a nightmare about my father in a long time. When I wake from it, sweat soaking through my pajamas, my alarm clock is blaring, forcing me from bed. I’m grateful - I’d rather not sink back into that dream. I take a deep breath, shaky. _I can do this._

\----------------------

Sitting quietly in the boat with Brian is much different than sitting in silence with my dad. There’s an air of companionship now, and Brian looks like he’s experiencing his own little slice of bliss as he patiently catches fish after fish. We have a bet going, and I expected to see the light of competition in his eyes, but instead he just looks… happy.

I wonder if I can take a slice of that happiness for myself. I’m broken from my thoughts by the pole jerking in my hands. “I think I got something big!”

“Reel it in!” Brian directs.

I get the fish by the side of the boat. The rainbow trout is long and gorgeous, and the feeling of manly triumph swells in my chest.

“It’s all yours,” Brian murmurs, watching me with excitement.

I lean over to use the net, noting that this fish is bigger than all the ones Brian caught. _I’m winning! I’m-_

_I’m in the water, oh god, and no life vest, because I’m a certified idiot, and the whole boat has flipped over and we’re all going to die-_

This line of thought continues as I try to kick my way to the surface, until Brian’s strong arms close around me and draw me up. I sputter and choke as I begin to tread water, watching Maxwell dog paddle around us in circles, happy as a clam. Our gear bobs up with us, and after appearing to take stock, Brian glances my way. “You alright?” he asks gently, not a hint of judgement in his voice. Like he- like he cares about me.

My mind rebelled against the thought, and I pushed forward with comedy instead. “Does that count as one?”

Brian laughs. “Well, seeing as all of our fish are now swimming safely back in the lake, I guess so.” His eyes are warm on me. “Let’s get you back to shore.”

Working together, we flip the canoe back over and recover our supplies, and ourselves. _I should be embarrassed right now,_ I think to myself. _But I’m not. Brian hasn’t made me feel-_ I shut down the line of thought as we row back to shore. Maxwell jumps off the boat, shaking his fur free of water - and shaking more onto us - and darts off into the woods.

“We should get a fire going so we can dry off,” Brian says, his voice strangely muffled, and when I turn to him, he’s taken his shirt off. Dots of lake water glisten in the sun across his back.

I swallow. _Oh. Oh my._ Brian is kind of… built like an ox. Extremely built. Making me lose my train of thought _built._

“Want to hand me yours?”

My cheeks are on fire, I know it, when Brian turns back around and holds out his hand expectantly. _Oh, right, my shirt._ I pull it off, and fold my arms over my chest, pretending I’m cold. Not wanting him to see my scrawny, pale body. _Another thing you’ve bested me in, stupid sexy Brian._

_Sexy. Oh. Oh my._

I fall back to deflecting with humor once again. “You might as well fry that shirt up. Seems like it’s the only lunch we’ll have.”

“The day’s young. We can fish from the shore.” Brian builds the fire up efficiently, and soon we are warming ourselves. “We’re probably going to have to put the kibosh on the competition for now.”

“Until another day,” I manage, though my heart isn’t really in it anymore.

We both glance down at my stomach as it lets out a strong gurgle. I blush again.

“You hungry?”

“I’m fine,” I mumble, kind of wishing I could curl up in a corner and be alone.  

Brian reaches into his shorts and pulls out a few granola bars. “I have a small child. I am flushed with snacks.”

Even in the daytime, the fire is doing crazy things to Brian’s skin, making it all glowy and warm, and it looks strangely good on the auburn of Brian’s springy chest hair. _Oh god, why am I just now remembering how much I have a thing for chest hair?_ “Thanks,” I murmur.

We settle in to wait as the fire warms us and the lures bring us our dinner. I unfold myself to throw a stick for Maxwell, then lean over to give Maxwell some thorough belly rubs.

“I feel like a bit of a third wheel here. Where are my belly rubs?” Brian jokes, his cheeks red from the heat of the fire.

I manage a little laugh. “I...um. Hah-” He flusters me, and I double down on Maxwell’s pets to cover it.

I want to tell him about the time with my father. I want to tell him that- that I’m glad I have a new memory for fishing, now. A better memory. I want to tell him that I admire how he’s raising Daisy, to be herself, to encourage her genius and build her social skills. I want to tell him about Alex, and cancer, and loneliness.

Instead, we sit companionably, the silence only broken by the sounds of fish being caught and reeled in. It isn’t an awkward silence, and I don’t really mind not saying everything I wanted to say. Brian makes me feel comfortable in it. No expectations. Two dads, enjoying the lake, the sun, the day.

I completely forget about the competition. It kind of feels like everyone is going home a winner.

As we pull into town, Brian turns to me, a smile on his face. He murmurs because the girls are still asleep in the back seat. “Thanks for coming out with us today. It was a lot of fun.”

“Thanks for inviting us. I… also had fun, actually.” It’s easier to admit than I thought it would be.

“Glad to hear it. Take it easy, yeah?”

“You too. Take it… the easiest.”

Brian’s eyes are warm on mine, rolling a bit at my final competitive jab.


	4. The Carnival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The third date - The Carnival - Jared finally admits the truth to himself!
> 
> CW: implied homophobia, internalized homophobia (in the past, because of Jared's daddy issues)

The night after I found Manda-Panda crying over that stupid Noah kid and, um, Emma...R.?, I come back from the grocery store to find her ensconced on the couch, oreo cookie crumbs scattered all over her shirt. She barely glances up at me.

“Want a lounge buddy?” I ask gently, trying to give her space to, you know, be her own person and junk.

“Did you get more cookies?”

I dig in one of the bags, then pull out a container of those terrible grocery store sugar cookies with the extremely sugary and fake tasting icing. Amanda arches her brow, then shrugs and nods. “That’ll do in a pinch.”

I leave the cookies with her and go to unpack the rest of the groceries. By the time I’ve returned to the living room, she has the oreos from before finished, and is eyeing the sugar cookies distastefully. “This first,” I say, tossing her a cheese stick. “Always eat your protein.”

“I thought you threatened to stop buying these things if I kept eating them like this.” Eyes steady on mine, Amanda takes a huge bite of her string cheese.

“I don’t know what I’ve done to make my only child betray me like this,” I moan dramatically, falling onto the couch beside her and opening my own string cheese.

“It was inevitable.”

“And sudden?”

She grins at the reference. “Yup.” She clicks the remote.

“What’re we watching? Hunting for Mothman marathon?” My question is immediately answered  as elegant piano music starts to play over the speakers, and then a wistful Keira Knightley is standing on the edge of a cliff, looking very dramatic and lovelorn. “Pride and Prejudice?”

“Yeah.” Amanda arches a brow at me in challenge, but I put on my serious romance face and turn back to the TV. She harrumphs and hits play, snuggling into my side and breaking into the sugar cookies.

_You have bewitched me, body and soul._

Amanda sighs beside me. I sigh with her. I mean, it’s a pretty emotional scene. She looks up at me. “Did it work?”

I furrow my brows. “Did what work?”

“You just watched a movie about two people who have the wrong idea about each other, sort out their differences, and fall in love. Did you not… see the parallels?” Amanda searches my dumbfounded face, and sighs loudly. “You are seriously dense. I’m going to bed.”

“Okay, goodnight sweetie,” I call after her, confused. She shuts her door rather loudly.

\--------------

Carnivals aren’t exactly my idea of a good time. I’m not a fan of heights, so rides are out. The food always makes Amanda sick, and everything is too expensive. But my girl wants to spend time with me, and since she’s graduating in a month, I’m not going to turn her down.

I wasn’t really paying too much attention to where Amanda was dragging me until I see the imposing figure with curly red hair. _Brian?_

“Oh. Look who’s here,” Amanda says nonchalantly. A little too nonchalantly. “What a coincidence that we all happen to be here at the same time in the same exact place.”

I narrow my eyes at her.

“Wow, this is so weird, can you believe we just happened to come to the carnival on the same night at the same time?” Daisy asks, her face aflame.

Apparently she is _not_ a genius at acting.

“Yes Daisy, that’s _sooo_ strange.” Well, Amanda isn’t exactly going to win an Oscar either, I have to admit.

Brian and I share a Dad look; something’s obviously up.  

“Brian.” I give him a small nod.

“Jared.” I receive a nod in return.

Competitive Dad begins to take over. “I still want that Pole Saw.” Amanda’s looking at me like I’m crazy. Maybe I am going a little crazy. Crazy for competition.

Something flashes in Brian’s eyes, too quickly for me to interpret, before he suggests a head-to-head carnival game challenge. I accept, shake on it - it’s _on._

Before we can start, Amanda pulls me aside. “Dad, you need to chill with Brian.”

“What?”

“I really like hanging out with Daisy, but with you and Brian complaining about each other all the time-”

I gape at her, shocked. I mean, yeah, I complain about him regularly, but- “He’s been _complaining_ about me?”

“Dad, that’s not what I meant-”

I channel my hurt into Competitive Dad mode. “Oh, see, now I gotta turn it up to eleven. Brian’s getting obliterated.”

Amanda lets out a frustrated growl and follows me to the first game.

By the time Amanda and Daisy are loaded down with prizes, I have to admit that- that something about the evening isn’t quite as _fun_ as the competition has been before. Brian feels edgy, tense, and I feel the same. It’s not like the lake- not that I’ve been thinking about the lake.

All the time. At night. Before I go to bed. _Tan, glistening chest… Focus, Jared!_

The lack of attention costs me the last game, skeeball, and I watch as Brian hands the goldfish off to Daisy, who immediately passes it on to Amanda, who immediately glares at me and names the fish Brian. Of course she does.

I’m still thinking about my daughter’s betrayal when I realize the girls are pushing Brian and I toward the Ferris Wheel. I make half a protest, but Brian isn’t scared of carnival rides, so I can’t be either. I force myself to step into the slightly swaying basket and watch as Amanda and Daisy somehow con their way _out_ of the ride.

So it’s just Brian and I. On the Ferris Wheel. The- uh. Kind of _romantic_ Ferris Wheel. I cough, looking at Brian, and force myself to look out at the view instead, nevermind that the slowly increasing height is making me slightly nauseated.

Suddenly, the ride stops, right as we near the top, and the attendant calls out that the controls are stuck. So we’re stuck.

My stomach rumbles.

A softer look crosses Brian’s face. “I know that sound,” he murmurs, pulling fruit leather from his pocket and offering it to me.

The thought that he knows that sound - knows _me_ intimately enough -  freaks me out, and I don’t respond in the best manner. “I don’t want your stupid fruit leather.”

“Fine.” I ignore the flare of hurt on Brian’s face.

I pull my eyes away from the dizzying view and take out my book of word jumbles. _Never leave home without them._ Brian eyes me, looking frustrated, then shrugs and pulls out his own crossword puzzle book - and a mother fucking _pen._ Of _course_ Brian Harding does his crossword puzzles in _pen._ Because he just _has_ to be better than me at everything.

“Are you _kidding_ me?” I burst out, full of emotions I can’t really identify. I throw my book of jumbles off the side in a fit of rage, or panic. Something.

Brian raises an eyebrow at me, and probably decides that he’s in a carriage with a crazy person, and the only solution he has is to talk soothingly and play along. “Oh, I bet we could find that when we get off this thing. Here, you can do my crosswords.”

I’m in no mood to be appeased. “Absolutely not.” I turn away, out again at the nauseating view. Silence fills the the space between us.

“Why do you hate me so much?” Brian whispers.

I whip my head back to him, and he’s looking at me like I’m the world’s biggest crossword puzzle. _“Hate_ you? Why do you think you’re better than me?”

Brian’s brows furrow. “What? I don’t think I’m better than you.”

“Oh, okay, so you were offering me fruit snacks and crosswords out of the kindness of your heart?” I retort, then falter, because, actually that sounds a lot like something Brian would do out of the kindness of his huge, sweet heart.

“Wh- yes?”

“A likely story,” I mumble, unable to lose ground. “All you do is brag about your smart kid and your landscaping and your stupid weed wacker! I’m sick of it.” _Am I, though?_

“And all you do is one-up me every chance you get!”

“The only thing I wouldn’t win is a “one-upping other people” competition. Because you would win that. Because that’s what you do.”

Brian searches my face, then turns out to the view of Maple Bay. “I… don’t do it on purpose.”

 _Wait, what?_ “You’re messing with me, right?”

Brian’s “No,” is soft. He turns back to me, one of his gigantic hands resting on my knee, dwarfing it. The contact feels … good. “I don’t think I’m better than you. At all. You and your daughter are amazing. I thought we were competing for fun at first, but the more we started doing it the more it felt like...you must hate me. And the more we did it, the more I wanted to impress you.” His eyes implore mine. “There were times when I did want to beat you, Jared. But really all I wanted was for you to like me.”

 _Pride and Prejudice._ Everything Amanda has been saying clicks into place for me. _I feel like such an ass._ “Oh my god, I feel like such an ass.”

Brian’s small smile is hopeful, and I move my fingers over his on my knee. “Brian, I’m so sorry. This whole time...I- I’ve been projecting. You’re-” I take a gulp of air and push through. “You’re everything my father would have wanted in a son. And I’ve been- been competing with you, to try to prove to some- some ghost that I’m good enough. I was just trying to tear you down to compensate for my own low self-esteem. I feel like a total idiot.”

“Jared-”

“You’re- Brian, you’re really cool. And strong. And a good Dad. And you’re really-” I hold myself back, like I’m trying to hold everything inside me back from spilling out everywhere and making a mess of everything. “I have a lot of respect for you. I’m sorry I got weird and jealous.”

Brian looks into my eyes, and I realize belatedly that I’m crying a little. I cringe when he reaches up to wipe away the tear on my cheek, but he doesn’t seem put off by my… my mind refuses to call it unmanliness, so I end up with ‘Jaredness’. “Hey, can we… start over?” he murmurs. “Hi, I’m Brian.”

\-------------------------------------

I shiver just a little in his arms. “Why do I always end up getting soaked when I’m with you?” I murmur against his chest, and he laughs. I like to listen to it rumble through him.

“God, there’s way too much innuendo in that sentence for me to touch it with a ten foot pole.”

He’s playing with my hair as we watch the fireworks. In a few minutes, they’ll be over, and we won’t have any excuse not to walk home and go our separate ways. It feels like it’s too soon. I feel like an idiot for wasting all that time. “You know,” I whisper, “Amanda could use some more spending money. If, um. If you wanted to go out sometime. She could babysit.”

“The way they Parent Trapped us tonight? I doubt she’d charge.” Brian presses a kiss to my forehead, then tips my head back to get at my lips. “‘Sides, I’ve spent a lot of money on Amanda this year, taking out her old man.”

“As her father, I have to be proud. I mean, she’s learning a valuable life skill.”

“Babysitting?”

“Suckering people out of money.”

We share a laugh, and another kiss. “I’d love to go on a date with you, Jared.” His fingers come down my arm, then find my hand in our laps. He links our fingers together. A few more booms go by - they’re working up to the finale.

We linger after the fireworks, use the excuse that everyone’s leaving the park at the same time. We’re happy in our shadowed edge of the green.

“I just want you to know,” Brian whispers in my ear, “that you can tell me whatever you want to, about your dad, about your husband. Or not. Whatever you want. I’d like to tell you about Susan,” he finishes softly.

“I want you to tell me about Susan. I want to hear about your life.” I play with his fingers, hesitating for a bit, before I finally work up the courage to speak again. “Thanks for- for offering to listen. I want to take you up on that. I also, um- maybe I should talk to someone, uh, professional?” My cheeks color. “Before I sabotage any more relationships.”

His lips are light on my cheek. “No sabotage here, thankfully.”

“Almost.”

“Doesn’t count.” He’s smiling when he kisses me again, because of course he is. He’s Brian. He’s big, and warm, and strong, and I feel- I feel safe here.

I feel safe here, and I know Amanda and Daisy are safe at the Harding’s, and we don’t really have anywhere to be. So I talk. I tell him about my dad, and how big of a disappointment I was to him. I tell him about Alex, and being an introvert, and how I’m going to miss Amanda like crazy. I tell him about how damned annoyed I was at how turned on I was at the lake, and that- that has him pausing me.

“Tell me more about that. Glistening? Did I hear glistening?”

His smile is bright, even in the dark, and I blush. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You said I glisten-”

“You know damn well you glisten!”

His grin is wolfish now, and he waggles his eyebrows at me. “Oh?”

“You, sir-” I poke him in the chest. “You are built like- like an ox, all-”

“An ox? Wait, is that a good thing?” He actually looks concerned, and I change the poke to a pat. Across his pecs. Because I can.

“Yeah, it’s a good thing. I promise. But, uh, if you don’t like the comparison, how ‘bout I just say - you’re a beautiful man, Brian.”

He beams down at me. “You’re a beautiful man, Jared.”

I scoff. He cuts off my scoff with a kiss. _What was I arguing about?_


	5. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the third date: an epilogue
> 
> Smut ahoy

I cry when I leave Amanda, but I’m mostly okay with it. My therapist and I have been working on that. Expressing my emotions. Overcoming the toxic masculinity I was raised in.

We’ve all come, well, me, Brian, Daisy, and Maxwell, we all drove the 14 hours to help her unload the stuff in her dorm room. Side benefit: I get to watch Brian lug around heavy boxes, and try not to embarrass our daughters by drooling over my boyfriend.

I also try not to linger. I try to let her go, and she’s ready for me to let go, so I do. And then I cry, like a baby, in Brian’s arms in the hotel room that night.

“I’m going to see her tomorrow,” I blubber against his chest, because it’s true - Daisy is spending the night with Amanda in her dorm room, one final sleepover before they’re separated because Amanda’s roommate isn’t checking in until tomorrow. We’re all grabbing an early breakfast before we head out. Sans Amanda.

Brian’s arms are snug around me as we cuddle on the bed. Well, as I cry on his chest, on the bed  He murmurs in my ear, that he loves me, that it’s going to be okay.

“How do you know?” I mutter back, sniffing.

“Because if you guys end up okay, then I have a fraction of a chance of surviving dropping Daisy off in seven years,” he admits, and I hug him harder.

“We can survive this,” I say with more determination that I feel.

“We can,” Brian vows.

As I calm, he flips on the TV and finds the History Channel. We settle into Long Haul Paranormal Ice Road Ghost Truckers, even though it’s an episode we’ve seen. It quiets us.

Alex could calm me, it’s true, just like Brian can and does. I’ve missed that, with Alex gone. I’ve missed not having to be the strongest person in the room. I’ve missed being able to freak out, and being calmed.

I’ve missed...other things, too.

Something about being in Brian’s arms, despite the freak out, has me half hard as I listen to his steady heartbeat and barely pay attention to the show. Maybe it’s because I’m post-freak out, and emotions are already running high. And we’re in a hotel. With neither of our kids within ear shot.

I lift my head and nuzzle along Brian’s beard until I’m at his ear. I murmur the fact about being as loud as we want to be, and am pleased to feel his breath hitch.

“Yeah?” he asks, turning slightly so his arm can run down my side. I’m still self-conscious about my body, especially compared to Brian, but Brian’s been working on it. I’m his special project. Or at least my self-esteem is. Let’s just say I will _never_ doubt that Brian thinks I’m sexy every again.

“Yeah,” I confirm, letting him pull my shirt up and off. He leans in to kiss my newly exposed chest, and his beard scratches against my skin, making me laugh a little. I tug his head up gently, wanting his lips again, wanting them always on mine. They’re soft, and his beard is still scratchy here, but not as bad as below. I love it. I love him.

One of his hands is resting on my hip, just on the waistband of my pajamas, and he pulls me closer, our clothed cocks brushing against each other pleasantly. We don’t get a chance to do this very often, but we make do.

Sex with Brian is mostly like a huge cuddle fest where we both manage to get off somehow. It’s full of long kisses, and lingering touches, and being held and cherished. Being cherished is probably the most important part.

‘Course, sometimes we make a competition, for old time’s sake: who can last the longest? It’s the best competition because everyone wins.

Tonight, though, is one of those slow, syrupy sweet times. I’m not sure how long we linger in the kisses, in molding our hands over each other’s bodies, before Brian reaches down and takes both of us in hand. My own hand clutches at his chest as I gasp, thrusting my hips up into the perfect circle of his hand, brushing against his cock. His strokes are slow and steady, his eyes, dark with want, boring into mine. I tangle my fingers in his hair and pull his head down for a kiss that drowns out the noises we’re making as we work our way to climax. Brian’s other hand is spread across my back, pressing me closer to him. I’m surrounded by Brian in the best way possible, safe in his arms.

“Jared-” he gasps against my lips, his cock spilling over mine as Brian keeps stroking, keeps bringing me to the edge.

The blatant love in his eyes is what sends me over. I join him, whispered love on my lips. I circle my arms around his head and squeeze him tightly against me.

When our hearts are steadier, and our breathing normalized, he gets up to grab a washcloth and cleans us both off gently. “You know, we didn’t really take advantage of our opportunity,” he murmurs, pressing kisses to my bare shoulder before handing me back my t-shirt. He sleeps without one, so I can curl up against his chest.

“Mmm?” I mumble, already drifting off.

His hands come down to settle at my ass, boosting me a little closer to him. The best sleeping position _ever._ “The whole ‘we don’t have to be quiet’ thing. I’m a little sad. I kind of wanted to hear you scream my name again.”

I blush, go full body red, and swat him on the backside gently. “Brian Harding, you are the _worst.”_

His chuckle rumbles against me, and he presses a soft kiss into my tangled hair. “You’re worster.”

“That’s not even a word!” I laugh, and kiss his chest, then look up and meet his amused eyes. “There’s always the morning.”

“What time did you say we’d pick them up?”

“Nine. So. Think you have it in you to make me scream before, oh, say, 8:15, to give us time to clean up?”

His grin is infectious. “Oh, a challenge, huh?”

“Mmm. Think you can _rise_ to the occasion?”

He snorts in my ear. “I love you.”

It’s so easy with Brian. Every time. “I love you, too.”


	6. A Knitty Situation - Rated E

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jared decides to find a hobby, and have a mini-crisis about being 'too gay'.
> 
> Those of you who know me as a writer know that I like to revisit my works. I'm an epilogue lover. So, if you like this particular work, you might want to hit the subscribe button above, because this is where I'll be putting any more Jared/Brian stuff. And I'm kind of super in love with them, so there will probably be more. They may not always be almost as long as the original work; this one kind of got away from me.
> 
> This chapter is rated E for smut.
> 
> CW: I forgot to warn before about cancer being the cause of Alex's death. That comes up again in this chapter. I'm sorry I forgot to put a cw on the other one. Also, because of the topic (being 'too gay'), Jared is dealing with Internalized Homophobia throughout. No slurs, but Jared does call himself a twink derogatorily.

“Obviously I really miss Amanda a lot. The house seems… really quiet.” I fiddle my fingers together and give a little smile. _“Too_ quiet, Amanda would joke.”

“That’s all perfectly normal and valid, Jared. You and your daughter have forged an even stronger bond since your husband’s passing.” Charity’s voice is soothing, calm and smooth like she schools it that way. She probably does, as a therapist.

“And it’s kind of boring without her? I- I actually got all the way through my work by Thursday this week. I didn’t know what to do with myself, and I didn’t want to bother Brian.” I pause after saying that, considering it again even as Charity writes a note on her paper.

She apparently decides to pursue that at another time, though. “Empty nest is a real thing that parents go through. Many of them consider opportunities that have been closed to them before because they had a child at home.”

“Opportunities?”

“Like, a hobby, perhaps. Can you think of something you’d want to do with your extra time, so it doesn’t seem so empty, or quiet?”

I chew at my lip

“Writing, perhaps?”

I wrinkle my nose. “I do enough of that for my job. Back in high school, maybe, but it’s not something I really want to pursue now.”

“Well, obviously coming up with a hobby isn’t necessarily something you just decide to do. But I’d like you to think about it, maybe try some different activities.”

“I did kind of like fishing with Brian,” I admit with a blush. “Even with the whole nightmare thing.”

Charity smiles warmly at me. “I think it would be wonderful to continue to build positive memories around fishing.” She makes another notation on her paper. “But don’t be afraid to find something that’s just for you. It’s okay, it wouldn’t be selfish.”

I nod. “I’ll think about it. Start exploring.”

“Good, good.” Charity leans back in her chair, reading her notes again before looking back up at me. “Now, when you say ‘bother Brian,’ what do you mean by that exactly?”

\------------------------------

Brian’s waiting for me when I step outside my therapist’s office. We normally spend the night together after one of my sessions, though Brian is really accepting of my various moods after. I learned pretty quickly that I didn’t really like being alone after a therapy session, but I also couldn’t handle the extroversion of going out someplace like the Coffee Spoon. We normally end up making dinner together (well, Brian makes it), and if it’s one of Brian’s nights, helping Daisy with homework, then falling asleep together watching trashy reality TV. We don’t spend every night together, we’re not in that place yet, but about once a week, we’re together like this, and it’s nice and comfortable. Some people might balk at a relationship being called comfortable, but as a man on the wrong side of his forties, with another man in the same boat, comfortable is key.

Tonight, Daisy is at Susan’s, so we walk hand in hand back to my place after stopping for Thai - okay, so I don’t make Brian cook _every_ time.

It’s my choice, always, what I want to say from my session, or how much. I could say nothing at all, and Brian would be content to let me snuggle into his side on the couch and spend a quiet evening with him. I’m grateful Brian gets enough extrovert action at work, since I can’t help him fuel it on nights like this.

Tonight, though, I tell him about the hobby thing. His first reaction is a sad little frown. “I didn’t know you were feeling so lonely,” he says, then holds up a hand in automatic correction, “Not that you had to tell me. Sorry.”

I push the container of tom kah gai toward him. “No, it’s okay. I’ll try to tell you when I’m lonely, but-” And this was the other thing Charity had coached me on, already coming up. “But I feel like I'm bothering you with my problems. _You_ don’t make me feel that way,” I say, wanting to be clear. “My jerkbrain does. I worry that if I try to replace interaction with Amanda to interaction with you, I’m going to, I don’t know, put a lot of stress on a new relationship. Look too clingy or needy.”

We’re crowded on one side of the kitchen table, because we like to share space like that, and Brian’s thigh nudges against mine in a small show of comfort. I take a breath, and he takes a spoonful of soup. It feels good to have said aloud, and I’m actually not too worried about how he’s going to react. Funny how anxiety works like that - it’s all build up and rarely any payoff.

When he’s ready with his words, he drapes an arm around my shoulders and places a kiss on my forehead. He leans back, but keeps the arm there, a steady weight. “Thank you for telling me that. Just for clarity, so it’s out on the table, so your jerkbrain can think of these words and bring them back and remember I said them, your presence doesn’t bother me. You’re not clingy or needy at all. Or not any more than the average human trying to figure this life out. I mean. You were there for me when I- when, uh, Daisy got her first- and you know, you also have a daughter, so you knew what to get and, uh-”

Brian blushes an adorable red, and I lean in for a kiss, because I can’t resist. “Thank you,” I say against his lips. “And I promise it gets easier. Well, I mean, then you get a teenager, and things get infinitely harder, but yeah.”

Brian laughs, pulling me into his side for a hug. “Thank you, and you’re welcome. And just- just remember, you can text me anytime. Oh!” His eyes light up. “Or you could swing by my work site! I’ve been wanting to introduce you to the guys anyway!”

I feel a pang of anxiety rush through my system, but I write it off to being a currently-burnt out introvert. “Yeah, I could do that,” I say, covering it up by standing to start putting away the leftovers. “Um, Charity also suggested more fishing?”

Brian beams at me as he stands to help. “I’d love to go fishing again. Haven’t been to the lake in awhile.”

He hands me the dishes to wash, then sidles in behind me, hands on my hips, beard tickling my neck. “I’ve heard I _glisten_ at the lake.”

I both want to laugh and am stupidly turned on by his sexy low rumble of a voice. “You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?”

“Nope.” He presses a kiss to my cheek and I shiver. He’s crowding into my space, and strangely, it has never once bothered me to have Brian crowd into my space. He stays there until it’s time to dry dishes, and then he takes over efficiently.

“I’d love to take you fishing again, and I’d love to have you come visit the site, or text me, or whatever, when you’re lonely. But I also agree with Charity. I think getting a hobby would be great. You know I love the time I spend alone in my workshop. Hey- you know, maybe you could ask the guys around the cul-de-sac to help you out. See what they like to do.”

“That’s not a bad idea.” I’ve got my arms crossed over my chest, leaning against the counter, watching Brian dry and put away our small amount of dishes, and he turns to me and winks. Does a double take. “What?” I ask automatically, looking down to search my shirt. “Do I have peanut sauce on me?”

Brian’s smile is huge and gorgeous and a little overwhelming. “No, I just. Uh.” He wrings the towel through his hands. “It’s silly.”

“What?” I ask again, blushing now, standing more awkwardly.

“Just, uh, the sunset. Um. The sunlight is all, uh, golden, and it’s coming through the window, and you, uh. You just looked really good.” He tosses the towel to the counter and crosses to me, sweeping me up into his arms. “Fuck it, I’m no good with words.”

He kisses me breathless, then lets me go as my heart is knocking against my ribs. I swear to god, my glasses are fogged up from the kiss. “Yeah, you’re better with action,” I mumble, falling back against the counter with a dopey grin.

He still has my hand, and he’s caressing over the knuckles. “How are you feeling tonight?”

I know what he’s asking. Sometimes after an intense therapy session, I just want cuddles and sleep. Sometimes I like a little more intimacy. “I’d do the sex,” I find myself saying, a small smile quirking my lips.

“‘Do the sex’? Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

“I can only assume. I don’t actually want to ask any Youth and also I think my asking them might be a crime.”

Brian laughs, pulling me into his arms. “Well, then.”

“And you? You’d like to do the sex, too?”

I make him snort. I _love_ making him snort. “Yes, I suppose I could do the sex tonight,” he says before dropping another kiss on my lips.  

“Excellent.” I take one of his big hands in my smaller one and start to lead him down the hallway.

We stop a couple of times, when the need to kiss him becomes too overwhelming and I have to push him against the hallway wall, and when his need to move us along means he’s boosting me up, my legs around his waist, and carrying me the rest of the way.

God, I fucking love how strong Brian is.

He sits down on my bed, and I’m still straddling him, still kissing him. He removes my glasses and folds them carefully, while kissing me, because he’s just that talented. If I had to do the same, I’d either break the glasses or the kiss.

I like this so much, sitting astride Brian, my fingers buried in his hair, dealing and receiving endless kisses. He’s pulled mine out of my bun and it’s hanging loosely over my shoulders - he loves burying his fingers in my hair, too. We’re quite a match.

I don’t know how long we stay like that, except it’s gone fully dark outside, and my lips are kind of chapped. I really don’t freaking care, though. I pull my shirt off and help Brian with his, so we can be skin on skin.

Brian hums, kissing along my jaw. “What kind of ‘the sex’ do you want to do tonight?” he asks, and I burst out laughing. He joins me, giggling even as he kisses me.

I have a sudden overwhelming need to be surrounded by Brian, and I climb off his lap to undo my jeans. I toss the lube on the bed. I’m not the type of person, I think, who will ever be sultry, and at our age, we prefer bluntness anyway. “Will you fuck me?” I ask, stepping out of my pants.

Brian’s eyes widen in both amusement and desire. “Sure, sweetheart,” he murmurs, ridding himself of the rest of his clothes. I smile at the endearment. We may not be sultry, but it doesn’t mean we’re not sentimental.

I lay back and welcome him down into my arms. I love the way he feels against me, his skin rough with calluses and hair, a weight on top of me, but not unpleasant. We’re both in a mood, I think, because everything Brian does tonight is soft, making me feel loved without feeling lesser, like I’m too delicate or something.

He leans back and I let my legs fall open, granting him access. Slicking up his fingers with lube, he looks down at me and pauses, then leans in to place a tender kiss on the inside of my thigh. I brush his curly bangs out of his face and he smiles up at me. _I love you._

I stiffen at the first touch, then force myself to relax. We haven’t done this often enough that I’m anything but tight and hard to work open, but Brian is both gentle and patient, and it helps me loosen up. Brian’s trading looks between his own fingers sinking into me, and my face. Or at least, he is up until I close my eyes, biting my lip and letting my head fall back at the sensation of his rough fingers working over my prostate. After that, I have no idea what he’s looking at because I’m riding his fingers and the sensations they’re giving me.

“You’re beautiful like this,” I hear Brian whisper, voice closer to me than before.  I open my eyes, and he’s pressing kisses up the side of my chest.

“Bri,” I moan, running my fingers through his hair. “I’m ready.”

I don’t remember sex ever being this gentle. Alex and I were young and crazy in love, then tired parents, then- then cancer had taken him from me. I don’t remember ever having something like this with him, as much as I loved him, still love him, and I’m glad for it. I _like_ that Brian is extremely different than Alex. They would have been friends, this much I know, but they’re not the same person, and I cherish that like I cherish Alex’s memory.

Like I cherish Brian as I wrap my arms around him when he slowly pushes into me. It feels like impossibly too much all at once, and then everything fits and is perfect. We lock hands and eyes as he begins to move in me, as I rise to meet his thrusts. The only sounds in the room are ours, love sounds exchanged between us.

It lasts forever, and is over far too soon. Brian drives me to peak, one of his hands wrapped around my cock and pumping me with the same strokes he’s using to nail my prostate. I can’t hold back in the wake of that onslaught, and clench around Brian’s cock as I paint stripes of cum over my own stomach. Brian groans, capturing my mouth again, and stiffens as he spills inside of me.

We take care of each other after, clean up, snuggle in together in our pajamas with my e-reader out. The book club just started Romeo and Juliet (Ernest’s reading it next semester, Hugo got the down low from his colleague), and Brian and I have fun reading out the different parts and shaking our heads at teenage antics.

\----------------------

The perfect hobby doesn’t strike me right away, even though I feel like I’ve tried everything by the end of the week. Whittling with Robert, baking with Mat, gardening with Damien. Nothing quite fits, and I start to wonder if maybe I’m one of those hobby-less people, destined to go from activity to activity, never excelling at one or another, drifting aimlessly from community choir with Joseph to wine tasting with Mary.

And then, just when I’ve given up hope, it hits me. Not literally, because that would be weird, or quite possibly deadly, given the supplies needed for this particular hobby - but I digress. It hits me, or rather, the exact yellow-brown of Amanda’s eyes hits _my_ eye, and I stumble in my jog, pulling up short to the shop window.

Craig notices I’m stopped and circles back, jogging in place. “What’s up, bro?” He tracks my eyeline down to the yellow stuff. String? No, yarn, I think. “Yarns and Ewe,” he reads aloud, drawing my attention to the sign, and the shop hours posted beneath it.

“Sorry,” I murmur distractedly. “Rock in my shoe.” I fake kicking it out, and Craig raises his scarred eyebrow at me skeptically. He shrugs when I shake it off and continue running.

 

Later, I’m feeling slightly ridiculous as I sneak down the street in sunglasses and a hat - luckily it’s a side street, not the main one with the park and the Coffee Spoon - and slip inside Yarns and Ewe. A pleasant chime sounds overhead, and I’m immediately approached by a kind-looking young woman who asks how she can help me.

“I, um.” I point to the ball-whatever of string-yarn-whatever in the window, the yellow-brown. “I was thinking about buying that.”

“Ooooo,” she says, and her eyes widen with enthusiasm. “Excellent choice, isn’t this colorway to _die_ for? Here, you _have_ to feel how soft it is though, that’s it’s real selling point.”

She plucks the material out of the window display and holds it out to me. I touch it, and okay, I’m a sentimental guy, we’ve established this. _It’s like touching a cloud._ “Oh. Oh wow,” I say, completely unable to express what I’m thinking. “I’ll take it.”

“Just the one? Or are you doing a big project? Do you know what yardage you need? This particular brand can vary widely from dye lot to dye lot.”

 _Shit, project, right. This stuff is used to make… things._ “Uh-”

“Or is it a gift?”

It’s an out I could take. I could claim it’s a gift, purchase it, and get the hell out of Dodge. Except I’m looking around the store and I’m fascinated by all of the _stuff_ in it and I find myself blurting out: “I don’t know anything about this. Could you- do you guys have lessons?”

The clerk’s eyes light up with enthusiasm again. “Mister, you would _not_ believe your timing. It just so happens to be our weekly knitting group afternoon! There are a roomful of people that would _love_ to teach you how to get started. I’m Janie,” she says, holding her hand out to shake mine.

“Jared,” I offer nervously.

“Knitting or crochet?” She must see the look of panic on my face. “Well, you can try both, they’re both valuable, though I prefer knitting. You probably don’t have any supplies. We could get you started with some, or you could practice on my supplies for the afternoon and decide if you want to buy later.”

“You’d do that?”

She shrugs. “Consider it like a gateway drug and I’m your dealer.”

I look at her skeptically, then laugh, and she laughs too, looking relieved. “Let’s go for the second option then?”

“You know, I bet you’re going to be a natural. You actually chose a really good yarn to start out with. Not too fussy. Oh, um.” She pauses at the counter. “You will have to purchase the yarn, I can’t reuse that.”

I pull out my wallet and hand her my card. “No problem.”

 

Turns out, I _am_ kind of a natural, as crazy as it seems. I’ve never been the most coordinated, but Janie introduces me to a small group of women in the back room, a variety of ages. A woman about my age, Helen, pats the couch next to her and effectively takes me under her wing.

And I fucking soar. Okay, I know that sounds egotistical, but I’m good at it. I’m _really_ good at it, right from the start. It all makes sense, even though I’m still learning the lingo. The women gossip around me, much like the guys at book club gossip over coffee, and I start a scarf. An hour later, I’m so in love with knitting that I buy needles from Janie and Helen helps me transfer my project over onto them.

And then I stuff the plastic bag Janie gave me under my coat for the walk home, because I can’t quite get my dad’s voice out of my ear telling me that I’ll never be a proper man if I keep being an emotional little bitch.

When I get home, I stuff the bag under my bed, feeling like I’d been under some type of crazy spell in the yarn shop. I know, I _know._ This is what Charity and I have been working on. Prying my father and his stupid, _stupid_ gender ideas out of my head is priority numero uno. Charity would be proud that I found something like this, although I’m already thinking of it like knitting found me.

I can’t quite quell my father’s disappointed voice, though.

I’m sitting on my bed, trying to navigate that headspace, when my cell phone pings.

 **Brian:** Hey, babe, just wondering if you wanted to take me up on that offer to tour the site and meet the guys? Now would be a good time, we’re about to take a break.

I gulp at the text, anxiety pinging through me again. I can feel adrenaline rush through my veins, sending electric shocks through my extremities. It’s one of my least favorite feelings. I send back a negative, giving some excuse about being swamped with work.

I finally identified why Brian's invitation made me so uncomfortable a few days ago, but figuring it out did _not_ give me the courage to go to the site anyway. If anything, it made it worse.

See, I know Brian is out as bi to his employees, because he won’t stand for a non-inclusive workplace and he believes it starts from the top down, so he’s out and open about it at work. Just another little thing to absolutely admire about the guy. My heart flutters a little in my chest just thinking about that before I shut it down again and slip back into worry. He’s out, but he’s- he’s _Brian._ A real guy’s guy. Not the kind of person people think of when they think gay.

They’d be thinking of me. Jared. Definitely _not_ a real guy’s guy, not if my dad’s judgement had been any indication. What if Brian introduces me around and I’m, like, _too gay_ for the construction workers? I’m the antithesis of Brian. What if he loses the respect of his employees because he has a gay shrimp of a boyfriend? I don’t want to fuck anything up for Brian. And I don’t want to lose what is the second best thing in my life right now - Amanda being the first, just like she'd always be.

Worrying about Brian and his employees, I unconsciously dig my knitting back out, sit against the pillows on my bed, and knit through my anxiety. It helps me lower my heart rate and take my mind off of Brian. Subconsciously, I know I just chose the rock instead of the hard place, and that I’d have to deal with it eventually, but-

But for right now, all I had to deal with was making sure I didn’t drop any stitches.

\----------------------------------

I love knitting. It’s unexpected and weird but slips easily into my life, kind of- kind of like Brian and Daisy have, actually. I love the steadiness, and the variation, and it has just the perfect amount of frustration to keep me going rather than shut me down.

The best thing about knitting is that it already fits in with my other favorite activity: sitting on the couch and watching TV. I finish the scarf for Amanda the next day in a Long Haul Paranormal Ice Road Ghost Truckers marathon, pleased that it’s not too wonky. It’ll make a good Christmas present. I head to Yarns and Ewe to spend a good chunk of money on more yarn. I find a green that would look really great on Brian, and Janie, pleased with my prowess, talks me through the cast on for a hat. I imagine pulling the soft green hat down over Brian’s curls, his eyes gleaming at me, and my heart flutters again.

“Have you seen Ravelry?” Janie asks, pulling out a tablet.

I look at it with trepidation. “Is it a social media thing? I’m kind of bad at that stuff. My daughter mostly deals with mine.”

Janie smiles endearingly at me. I think I’m her new favorite pet project. Quite possibly because she’s already made a lot of money off me. Maybe that drug dealer joke wasn’t so far off.  “It’s easy. I can help you set one up.”

She clicks through, showing me patterns and libraries and pictures and I’m overwhelmed, but in a good way. There are just so, so many things to knit.

Definitely a dealer. “Janie, you’ve opened up a whole new world for me.”

She grins. “Awesome!”

 

I’m halfway through an episode of Extreme Makeover: Deck Edition (Brian may hate it, but now the show makes me think of him, and I can’t stop watching), knitting the green hat happily in the round, when the doorbell rings. My fingers freeze on the needles and I shove my progress in a bag and stuff it under the couch, along with the other skeins of yarn I’d gotten, so whoever it is won’t learn my dirty secret.

My heart’s pounding as I open the door, but it’s just the UPS guy, dropping an Amazon package off. I exchange waves as he drives away and bring it in, then lean against my door and try to calm myself.

Knitting is a Catch 22: it’s soothing, but if anyone finds out that I’m doing it, I might just die.

\--------------------------

I may have a knitting problem. Two weeks in, and I’ve already got a pile of knitted goods with no homes. I’ve also already had to sit myself down and have a serious talk with myself about how I have a daughter in college and a mortgage to pay and I can’t just spend all my money on yarn.

At the top of the pile is Brian’s hat. I think about him wearing it for early morning fishing, when the lake is still freezing cold, and his cheeks are that beautiful combination of freckled and rosy.

I may have knitted Daisy a matching headband. Only fair, after all. Amanda’s already got a scarf, a hat, a cowl, _and_ I’ve got a pair of mittens started because I wanted to learn the magic loop technique.

I want to give Brian the hat, want to see him wear it, feel this weird surge of possessiveness thinking about it, actually. But I don’t want to out myself as a further weirdo, either. I haven’t even told Charity about this new hobby of mine.

I can’t help but think that if anyone finds out, it’s going to be like when I joined choir in middle school all over again. Not sure I ever saw my father look more disgusted.

Something happens when I slip my hands onto the needles and turn on something mindless on TV. I slip away, and nothing else matters, and nothing can hurt me, not when I’m concentrating on my stitch count and tracking along the chart. The more time goes by, the more I fall in love with it, the easier it gets, the more natural.

And that’s when I get sloppy.

\------

“Bro!”

I practically run into Craig and River on my way out of Yarns and Ewe one morning, project bag tucked over my shoulder, two new skeins of yarn, already caked, in my hands. The brief impact knocks the cakes out of my hands.

“Bro!” I automatically respond as my heart skips a beat. “Uh…”

Craig is already crouching to pick up the newest pieces of my stash.

“It’s not what it looks like!” I blurt out, because I am an _idiot_ under pressure.

Craig quirks his brow at me. “Really? So you’re not completely innocently buying yarn and supporting a local business? Because that’s what it looks like.” He lowers his voice conspiratorially. “Dude, are you buying it for… _nefarious purposes?”_

I take the yarn cakes he offers and stuff them down in my bag. All of a sudden, I need to share this secret. “No, I- uh. I-”

The confession catches in my throat.

“Do you have time right now? Or are you heading off to something of extreme importance in your schedule?” I manage.

Craig’s face softens, and he nods in the direction of our cul-de-sac. We start walking.

“No, um. No. Damien convinced me to take a little time to myself.” A cute little blush covers his cheeks that has nothing to do with the warmth of the morning. It’s the cutest goddamn thing I’ve ever seen.

Scratch that, actually, because I’ve seen Damien and Craig _together,_ and _that’s_ the cutest damn thing, and _I_ knew Amanda when she was a baby. They’re like the Jane Bennett and Mr. Bingley of the cul-de-sac, too kind for their own good. I’ve already been angling for best man status.

“That’s good,” I say, encouraging. I’m glad to see someone is helping Craig bring down his stress levels. He deserves it.

“Yeah.” He’s smiling quietly to himself, like he’s thinking of Damien. I know the look because I’ve been caught thinking of Brian way too many times by the rest of the guys.

We reach my door and I let Craig and River in. Craig takes River out of the carrier and sets her down to play with her stuffed capybara. I take out the yarn balls and head to the third bedroom-slash-my office, and Craig follows me, River crawling behind her dad.

I take a deep breath and push open the door, shutting my eyes because I know exactly what Craig is seeing.

_“Bro.”_

Is that censure? Disgust? Wonder? I can’t tell, so I open one eye carefully and try to figure out what face Craig is making.

He looks shocked, but not like, horrified. “Did you _make_ all this stuff?”

Piles of hats and scarves and cowls are not-so-artfully arranged on my desk. There’s a box of yarn on the floor, too, the beginning of my stash. The ladies at knitting may have gifted me stuff when they found out I was starting from scratch.

“Y-yes?”

Both of Craig’s eyebrows are raised, and he walks into the room, examining the closest stack of goods. “Bro. This is... _amazing._ You really made all this? How long have you been a secret knitter? Years? Did you start this in college and I just never knew?”

I rub my neck in embarrassment. “Um, a month?”

_“A month!?”_

I clear my throat and nod. I edge over next to him and dig through the pile, then find the fluorescent yellow hat. “Here, this one’s for you, actually. It’s, um, reflective. For safety for running in the winter.”

“Bro!” Craig excitedly pulls it on, and it fits perfectly. “How do I look?”

“I mean, I have a mirror, you can go look,” I answer feebly, feeling overwhelmed. All of a sudden, I wish it wasn’t Craig I had told, but another man entirely. A burly, red-haired, freckled, softy of a man who just so happened to be my boyfriend. Craig is taking this well, and I realize immediately that Brian would have, too.

I have this little epiphany while Craig is checking himself out in the bathroom. When he comes back, he’s flushed with pleasure and also because it’s already warm and now he’s wearing a thick wool hat. “Dude. Dude! This is, like, the coolest thing ever.”

“You’re not just saying that, right?”

He pulls off the hat, leaning against the door jamb and taking me in with his dark, serious eyes once again. “You’ve been calmer the last few weeks.”

“I- what? Really?”

He nods, then grins at me. “I figured it was just because you and Brian were doing the do more frequently or something.”

I blush harder than I’ve ever blushed before, I’m pretty sure. “Oh my god, Craig, you’re the worst.”

“I mean, am I wrong?” He waggles his eyebrows at me, and nope, _now_ I’m blushing the hardest I’ve ever blushed.

“You’re not wrong,” I squeak, because it's true.

He laughs, but it’s not unkind. He wraps one of his arms around my smaller shoulders and pulls me in for a half hug. “Whatever combination, it’s working for you, bro. I’m glad.”

“Thanks,” I manage, a little teary. “I’m really happy for you and Damien, too, bro. I just wanted you to know that. You look good without so many stress lines on your face.”

“Dude, I know you basically just told me I looked like shit before I started dating Damien, but I’m going to give that to you anyway.” We laugh, and hug again.

I dig through the pile to find a toddler-sized hat for River that matches her lavender shirt. I tug it over her black curls and she gurgles at me, immediately pulling it off and playing with it.

Craig laughs again. “I’ll keep it for her for winter, if her head isn’t even bigger by then. I swear to god, she’s going through a growth spurt. Last night she ate all her dinner, and mine, _and_ I’m pretty sure she conned the twins out of half their dinner, too. I ended up making myself a protein shake after she went to bed.”

“Well, I’m happy to make her a bigger one if she needs it.”

Craig leans against the wall again and eyes me. “So, big secret, huh?”

My blush now is uncomfortable, and I begin to fiddle with the stacks of knitwear with a shrug.

“You know your friends wouldn’t care, right?”

“You know it’s not normal for a guy to knit, right?” I retort.

Craig’s “Bro” is soft and full of understanding. It’s so weird and beautiful and amazing how good he is at infusing that one word with so much meaning.

“Look, I know I’m- I’m already, like, super gay, so what’s one more thing to add on top of it?” I squeak again. I hate that my voice squeaks sometimes.

Craig comes over and stills my nervous hand movements, but I can’t meet his eyes. “One, you are who you are, and we wouldn’t be your friends if we didn’t accept that. And two, what does ‘super gay’ even mean? Other people may place value judgements on amount of gayness, and we call those people dickheads, by the way, but that’s not what we do here in the cul-de-sac, right?”

I can’t think of anything to say to that. He folds one of his hands over mine on the desk, and the dam bursts. “What if you guys stop hanging out with me? What if- what if I’m a disappointment to Brian? What if he gets tired of having a stupid middle-aged twink of a boyfriend that wouldn’t be able to last one minute around the guys at his work?”

Craig squeezes my fingers. “Bro. Do you want me to write that shit down? Because those are excellent questions for your therapist.” I laugh a little, though it’s wet sounding, and he smiles, looking gratified. “Jared, I know it’s hard for you to talk about stuff, but I feel like - like maybe you’ve been building this knitting thing up in your head as this big thing, and it’s not?”

I digest that, and nod. Telling Craig really hadn’t been that big of a deal, now that I thought about it. Anxiety: big build up, little payoff, most of the time.

“So maybe you could talk about it to other people. Like maybe your boyfriend,” Craig says with a kind, persuasive smile. He reaches around my head to tug my ponytail, and I slap at his arm. “And also, have you seen the way Brian looks at you? Dude. Bro. Dudebro. You are, like, his sun and moon and stars and shit.”

“He’s been wanting me to drop by the site. Introduce me around.”

“Yeah?”

“I guess maybe that freaked me out.”

“Yeah?” he repeats, sarcastically this time.

I punch his arm lightly again. “Yeah. Um. I guess I should talk to Brian.”

He checks his athletic watch. “You know, it’s just about lunchtime. Bet you could head over to the site, maybe bring a picnic.” He waggles his eyebrows again. “Damien and I went on a picnic date last week. And we’re going on another one with the girls, to the state park, on Saturday.”

Craig’s face goes soft again as he talks about Damien. “Dude, have fun,” I say with a smile.

“Thanks!” He scoops River up off the floor and gets her settled in the chest carrier.

I walk them to the door, and it’s not until they’re headed off - in the direction of Damien’s house, I note, and not their own - that I realize I should have asked how one goes about planning a picnic.

Especially when one can’t cook worth a damn.

\--------------------

I end up sticking with my wheelhouse - that is, buying food that someone who _can_ cook worth a damn made - and walk over to the work site with a backpack full of chicken fingers and potato salad and watermelon. And, um, my knitting. Because I might as well conquer all my fears at once.

Brian’s face lights up when he sees me, waving from outside the chain link fence. He comes out to meet me, and any fear I had that he would be embarrassed to have me at the site flies out with window when he lifts me up in a huge hug, then plants a kiss directly on my lips. I’m left dazed and breathless, my fingers scrambling for purchase in the heavy flannel he wears for protection against - against construction stuff, I suppose.

“Hi,” I say weakly. “I brought you lunch. Well, us. I brought us lunch.”

His huge hand envelopes mine as he calls over another worker. He quickly introduces us, and I shake hands with Gavin, Brian’s second in command, who hands me a hard hat.

Brian settles it on my head and immediately loops an arm around my waist to take me around the parts of the site that are safe enough for non-workers to go into. By the time he’s through the second introduction, I’m blushing from head-to-toe at the obvious pride in Brian’s voice. He’s- he’s actually _showing me off,_ which I never thought would be possible.

When we’ve circled back around to the front again, Brian waves Gavin back over and I hand him my hat. “Gav, Jared and I are going to take a long lunch. Make sure Johnson gets section A done, okay?” Brian leaves his own hard hat, tool belt, and flannel on the table full of plans.

I’m expecting Gavin to look annoyed at his boss taking off, but he just grins at us before heading off to bark at some of the other guys. Brian’s obviously really, really good at this. No respect lost here today.

Brian and I are just kind of beaming at each other, and it takes us a second to remember how to walk. Brian slips his arm around my waist again as we walk to the closest park.  I fit neatly tucked into his side. I love being neatly tucked into Brian’s side.

At the park, I pull a blanket out of my backpack, and we set it up together in a shady spot. I unpack all of my grocery store goodies, happy that Brian looks pleased and not disappointed. Although really, I’m not sure either Brian or I would ever be disappointed by fried chicken.

When we’ve eaten our fill, I pull out the green hat. “I have a confession,” I murmur, holding the hat behind my back.

“Okay,” Brian says easily, laying on his side, propped up on an elbow.

I bring the green hat around to my lap. “I made this for you. You don’t have to wear it, just um, I thought the green was really pretty, well, actually, it’s more of an emerald I guess, and it was my first hat so it’s kind of plain, the headband I made Daisy is way more complicated, but I thought it would look good on you and-”

“Jared.”

My name shuts me up, and I blush and hand the hat over.

“You _made_ this?” Brian is examining the hat with wonder.

“Um. Yeah. I kind of. Uh, took up knitting. Last month. That’s where I’ve been going to in the afternoons when I was trying to avoid the work site-” I shut myself up this time, but too late. Brian’s eyes are showing hurt now.

He slides his eyes down to the hat, running his fingers over the material. “I, um. I _thought_ you were avoiding visiting me, but I didn't want to press too hard. Is it- can I- Can I ask why you wanted to avoid my work?”

I clear away our empty containers with shaky hands, then slide in next to Brian on the blanket, taking one of his hands. I know I’ve hurt him, and I hate myself, hate my anxiety. I take a deep breath. Let it out, take another. “I’ve- I’ve been avoiding coming by because, um. Because I was worried that I’d be, um, _too_ gay for your employees.”

Brian squeezes my hand tightly and finds my eyes. _“That’s_ why you were avoiding it? I thought you were _ashamed_ of my profession!”

I feel the blood rush out of my face. “No! Oh- oh my god, no. I’m so sorry I made you think that. No.” I cup his cheeks, feeling the roughness of his beard beneath my fingers, and make sure my eyes are meeting his. “I am not ashamed of you, Brian. I’m in love with you.”

Brian leans in ever so slightly so our foreheads touch. “I love you, Jared. So, uh. You’re definitely not ‘too gay’ for me.” He leans back abruptly. “Wait, what the hell does that even mean? That’s not-”

He cuts himself off, then lays back on the blanket and pulls me down with him. “That’s your dad talking,” he whispers. “Not me. Promise.”

I place a steadying hand over his heart and kiss him softly. “I know. I’m, uh. I’m working on it.”

“I know. I’m not going anywhere while you do.”

He pulls the hat out from between us and tries it on. “It’s comfy,” he murmurs with a smile.

“It looks good. Brings out your eyes. You’re going to be the most handsome man out on the lake.”

“Not if you’re there with me.”

I thump him gently on the chest, then lean in and rub our noses together. “Charmer.”

“So you’re knitting now?”

I look away. “Yeah, um. I’m kind of like...really good at it?”

“I bet you’re _amazing_ at it, baby.” He sweeps off the hat - it is really quite hot out here today - and brings me in for another kiss. “And I’m glad you’ve found a hobby.”

I settle more completely in his arms, my head on his chest, my fingers tracing over his shirt. “I’m glad you don’t think it’s too-” I cut myself off, deciding not even to give my dad a voice anymore.

I feel him press a kiss into my hair. “It’s not.” I can hear the promise in his voice.

I go up on an elbow so I can meet his eyes again. “I really love you.”

“I really do, too.”

“I love you more.”

Brian grins. “Oh, competition time, huh? Okay, I love you most.”

“I love you infinity.” I laugh.

“I love you infinity plus one.”

“Shit, you got me!”

“To the victor go the spoils!” Brian booms, rolling me to my back on the blanket and kissing me senseless.


	7. Knots - rated T

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jared has a realization while snuggled up next to Brian on the couch. 
> 
> Rated T - intended to get to smutty times and it didn't happen, but oh well!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's really hot and my entire state is on fire so I'm writing about Thanksgiving and cold.

I sigh contentedly. I’m in one of my favorite places - snuggled up against Brian’s side on his couch, my fingers moving my knitting needles rapidly, my feet tucked up underneath me. I’m halfway through an afghan, and the part that’s done is draping over part of my legs and part of Brian’s. His arm is around my shoulders, and if I wanted, all I’d have to do is lean back a little bit and my head would be laying on his chest. Maybe fall asleep, although I try not to spend the night on weeknights with Daisy. She likes me, and I like her, of course, but it makes Susan more comfortable this way, and I’d never do anything to jeopardize Brian’s time with Daisy. 

Brian and Daisy are chatting about her homework, something Brian likes to do even though he doesn’t understand most of what Daisy says. Brian and Susan worked out a system where Daisy goes from the elementary school - she’s in 6th grade, her last year there - and takes math and science at the middle school level. I know they’re both worried about her still, socially. 

I’ve been trying to help by setting up activities with Craig’s girls and Daisy. They’re a grade younger, but way more socially competent. Daisy’s helping Hazel with math, and the twins are helping Daisy figure out the scary world of friendship. Still, I’ve asked Amanda to take the three girls to the rink when she’s home for Thanksgiving, because she’s way better at this stuff than any of us bumbling adults. 

Daisy turns back to the book she’s reading, one of her hands scritching at Maxwell’s ears absently.  I feel Brian press a kiss into my hair before he goes back to scrolling through his tablet, working on plans and timelines and supply lists, all the paperwork he needs for a new contracting bid. 

I sigh again, not loudly enough for anyone else to hear, really, and snuggle in a little closer to Brian’s heat. He’s wearing the sweater I made him, a nice deep blue that looks amazing on him and feels soft against me. 

I realize, with a bit of a start, that I could happily exist like this for the next 40-odd years. Whatever I manage to eke out in this life. I could keep doing exactly this, right here, and be happy. Could watch Daisy grow up. Could watch my girls bring home significant others and grandchildren (way,  _ way _ down the line) or grandpets or fucking - just themselves, that’s fine. Could stay curled up in Brian’s side and watch his hair and beard go white so he looks a bit like Santa Claus. I am extremely content like this, in a way I never thought I would be again, after the doctor said the C word, sitting across from Alex and me. 

The two thoughts crash together. I twist my head a little to study Brian’s profile. He’s wearing his little half-glasses, the ones he needs to read the tablet screen without holding the whole thing out at arm’s length, and I am so, so deeply in love with him, it chokes me for a second. He’s made me happy, and I, somehow, miracle of miracles, make him happy.

And he could be taken from me in the blink of an eye.  

I swallow over the lump in my throat as he finally notices me looking at him. He raises a quizzical brow, so I must have a weird look on my face. I shake my head, and lean up a bit to brush my lips over his gently. “I think I should pack up and head home,” I murmur.

It  _ is _ getting late. I’m not running away, I tell myself. 

Brian sets his tablet aside and hands me back the parts of the work-in-progress afghan that are on his legs, helping me pack up my knitting. I’m grateful for it - my hands are a little shaky. 

I fistbump Daisy on the way out with a smile and a goodnight.

At the door, Brian cups one of his large hands behind my head and pulls me in for a deep kiss, full of longing and just a hint of possession. I shiver, slipping my arms around his neck and kissing back, falling into it a little bit. 

“Wednesday night?” he whispers, voice throaty. 

I know my cheeks are red, but his are too, asking me about sex like this. I kiss him again, then shake my head. “Picking Amanda up at the bus station on Wednesday.” 

I can’t say it with regret, not when I haven’t seen my girl since Parents’ Weekend a month ago. Brian doesn’t make a fuss, either, just kisses my nose and smiles. I pull away to bundle up into my coat, and Brian tugs one of my own hand knit hats over my head. “It’s almost freezing out there,” he says quietly. 

“I’m walking two driveways over.”

“Could snow at any moment,” he grumbles, pulling a scarf - again, one of my own...basically everyone in the cul-de-sac will never want for winter gear ever again - around my neck. 

“It’s like, five hundred steps, max.”

Maxwell comes running at the sound of his name, and we both laugh. “Sorry, Maxwell,” I say, bending over to give him a last rub. I stand, pulling Brian in for one last fuzzy smushy kiss, as bundled up in wool as I am. No part of me is anything close to cold as I haul my project bag over my shoulder. 

Brian’s fingers are lingering at my waist, and he leans in to press a kiss to my hat. “Love you,” he murmurs. “Text me that you made it?”

“A hundred feet separates our houses. If I look out my bedroom window I can see into your kitchen. Nice view, by the way.” My mouth quirks up in a quick smile, and I reach out to tug lightly on the beard I love so much. “I will walk to my house, and double check that serial killers haven’t invaded since I left it several hours ago, and I will text you. Promise. Don’t worry about me.” 

His fingers capture mine and he smiles down at me. “Too late.” 

I pull his knuckles up for a kiss. “I love you, too.” 

I head out into the cold, turning back to where Brian has the door cracked to watch me go. I wave once, and he waves back and shuts it, presumably heading back to the living room and Daisy. 

It’s painful, that distance. I feel it palpably as I unlock my front door and set down my stuff. No one jumps out at me from the dark, so I text Brian a goodnight with a heart emoji and receive one back, a single heart. I really, really wish I were falling asleep with Brian tonight.

Instead, I do some of the dishes in preparation for Amanda being home, and read until I’m too tired to keep my eyes open, trying not to think right now about what had freaked me out before. 

\------------------------------------

Brian, Daisy, and Maxwell come with me to pick up Amanda, since we all fit in Brian’s truck. It’s hard to describe how my heart feels when she bounds off the bus, as high energy as ever, but looking older somehow. I noticed it back in October, too. She’s always going to be my little girl, but she’s becoming her own woman.  _ Dammit Jared, you told yourself you wouldn’t cry. _

I’m not crying when I sweep her into my arms for a huge hug, though it’s a close call. I think it might be for her, too, when I hear her whisper, “Missed you, Daddy,” in my ear before releasing me to hug Daisy and Brian. 

She makes a big show out of greeting Maxwell, hauling him up into her arms and insisting he’s going to ride in her lap on the way home and also can he come over for a sleepover. 

Daisy’s face falls a little. “Oh, um. I’m headed to my mom’s tomorrow, so I was thinking, but maybe…” 

Amanda somehow finds a free arm to haul Daisy into her side. “Dude, I can’t take care of Maxwell all by myself. You’re going to have to come and show me the ropes.” 

Just like that, Daisy’s beaming again, and I want to cry again, because I love my daughter so goddamned much. “Sleepover, huh? I can make pancakes!” I say. 

Amanda sticks her tongue out at me. “Dad, you  _ suck _ at pancakes. Brian, you should come make us pancakes instead.” 

“My own  _ daughter,” _ I say, clutching my hand dramatically to my chest as we pile into Brian’s car. I can hear Brian’s booming laugh before he even opens the driver’s side and I beam. I find his hand on the bench seat between us as the girls and Maxwell settle in in the backseat.

“Are you hungry, sweetie, or did you eat on the bus?” I ask once we’re driving. 

“Mmm. I mean, I ate some  _ snacks _ on the bus.” 

“McDonald’s drive through?” I suggest to Brian with a grin. 

He nods as the girls cheer. 

\---------------------------- 

Before we moved to the cul-de-sac, Thanksgiving had been a fairly quiet affair for Amanda and I the last few years. Alex and I had gravitated to each other in part because of our lack of family ties; Alex’s parents had died when he was little, and he had been raised by his grandmother, whom I unfortunately never got a chance to meet. I’d pretty much stopped speaking to my dad after my mom died. His homophobic, racist ass had never acknowledged Amanda, and I never intended to attempt to repair the rift and expose her to his shit. It was why I’d been totally fine with using Alex’s sample with our surrogate, too. He’d lost his family too soon, and I didn’t want to pass my dad’s genes on. 

All this is to say that Amanda and I had been used to spending Thanksgiving by ourselves since Alex had died. Last year, though, our first in the cul-de-sac, Craig had put his foot down and insisted we join him and the girls at their place for a day of food and football and not-loneliness. 

We've accepted the same invitation for this year, and because Daisy always spends Thanksgiving Day with Susan (in exchange for Christmas day with Brian), Brian has been invited along as well. 

I’m nervous, because Amanda and I have been invited to the Harding family leftover dinner and games night that takes place on Friday. Which means I’m meeting Brian’s parents, and aunts and uncles and cousins. Pretty typical Jared Hudson freak-out material. I’ve been knitting to cope since Daisy and Brian left after breakfast. 

Amanda looks up from her phone and grunts at me, and I toss her the remote - a language we developed long ago. She flips it away from the sports Brian had it on to an episode of Paranormal House Hunters and settles back in with her phone. 

“Are they searching for paranormal houses for people to live in, or are they searching for paranormal houses to study the paranormal activities?” 

“I’m not actually sure,” Amanda mumbles from her spot on the floor. 

I hum, knitting a few rows before I finally work up the courage to say what I wanted to say to Amanda. 

“Um.” I set down my knitting, but I’m still staring down at it. “How do you feel about Brian?”

Amanda’s eyes flick up from her phone. “You know I like him.” 

“But like. Um. If he hung around more often…”

“He already hangs around pretty often, dad. I swear half the time I text you you’re with Brian. Not-” she holds up a finger, “that I’m complaining. You two are good for each other, or at least you are now, after you got your head out of your ass- I mean butt.” 

I flap a hand in her direction, waving away the correction. Whatever. “I mean like. Um. If I were to, um. Move in with him,  _ ormaybegetmarried,” _ I mumble.

Amanda’s eyebrows shoot up, and she sets her phone away completely, rolling up off the floor and coming to sit at my feet on the couch. I meet her eyes. “You serious?”

I shrug a little. “I’m serious about Brian. I haven’t brought it up with him, though. I’m not going to just get down on one knee at dinner tonight, or anything. And not if it would… upset you.” 

She rolls her eyes a little at that and gives me one of her long, drawn out  _ ‘daaaaad’ _ s. “It wouldn’t be  _ my _ marriage, it’d be yours.”

“Yeah, but you’re always going to be the most important person in my life,” I counter, frowning a little. 

She looks embarrassed but pleased. She nudges her toe against mine, and I nudge back. “When you started dating Brian, what’s like, the first thing you said to me?”

It’s not hard to think back to the awkward conversation I’d had with her six months ago, the day after the carnival. “That I wasn’t trying to replace your father. That- that I still love your father, but I wouldn’t date Brian if you were uncomfortable.”

“And I replied…” She smiles expectantly at me.

“That you were old enough to uh, how did you put it exactly?”

“I’m old enough to get that you deserve this,” Amanda supplies.

“Right. I deserve this,” I echo softly.

“You do.” She leans her head on her knees. “It’s really nice of you to consult me, seriously. But I don’t want you thinking that you can use me as an excuse to back out of stuff that you truly want, okay?”

I smile. “Okay.”

“Okay,” she says with a nod. “Now that that’s settled, six months, Dad? Seriously? You don’t want to wait a little longer?”

I blush.  _ ‘I’m lonely’ _ is absolutely  _ not _ the thing I’m going to say to my daughter. I don’t need her feeling guilty on top of everything else. I shrug. “I think… I don’t know. Things seem clearer now that I’m older, you know? Like, I can-” I blush harder. Damn my stupid pale skin. I look down at my toes and watch them wiggle and flex nervously against the couch. “I can see myself being with Brian for the rest of my life, the fates willing.”

Amanda’s eyes are soft on mine when I finally get the courage to look up. “Goals,” she says, and it breaks the tension a little, both of us laughing. “Seriously, though, Daddy, that’s really sweet. Hope I find that someday.” 

I give her my Stern Dad™ look, which makes her laugh. “You have time, you should be focusing on your schoolwork.” 

_ “Daaaa-ad.” _

I barely dodge the wool sock she tosses at my face.

\-------------------------------

Thanksgiving dinner - both the one with Craig and the one with Brian’s family - passes by with a blur, and I’m still sitting on the thought of connecting my life to Brian’s permanently, which is a good indicator of how well the family dinner went, actually. 

I think I was most nervous about being the first man Brian had brought home, but I had quickly found out that Brian’s cousin Mark and his partner had been the ones to really break the family in a few years ago. Other than the typical family nosiness one can expect at that type of thing, the dinner had gone smoothly. We’d played Scrabble - Daisy kicked everyone’s ass - and Bananagrams and Scattergories.   


I don’t bring The Topic up until a date night a few weeks later. Brian and I are driving around the neighborhood, taking in the Christmas lights. It’s cold outside Brian’s truck, but no precipitation. Just a clear, star-filled sky and twinkling lights. We park by a lovely display and I can’t stop myself from reaching across the cab to take Brian’s hand. 

He smiles, then pats the bench next to him. I unhook my seatbelt and scoot over, snuggling into his side. We watch the lights twinkle through the windshield. 

“Will you marry me, Brian?” 

The words slip out of my mouth before I have a chance to wrangle them back. But now that they’re out, I don’t want to chase them with more words. The silence in the truck seems eternal. 

“Yes,” Brian whispers back, and my breath whooshes out in a rush. 

I twist to see his face, then Brian’s pulling me into his lap so we can be eye to eye. My head is almost hitting the cab ceiling, but I can duck for a little while. “Really?” I ask, filled with wonder. 

Brian reaches up to cup my cheek, and I close my eyes and let my head settle in his hand. He’s so warm, and I just want to melt into him. He runs his thumb over my lips. “Jared.” 

At my name, I let my eyes drift open and meet his.

“I- it's a 'yes, eventually'."   


I try to hold myself back from feeling hurt, but it must show in my face, because he runs his thumb over my cheek in comfort. “Why?”

He looks contemplative. “I mean, there’s no rush, is there? I’m yours. I- I like to think you’re mine, if you don’t mind that terminology.”

I shake my head. “I don’t.”

“You’re mine, I’m yours, we love each other. No rush.” 

I frown a little. “But if all of that’s true, why not marriage? Why not just skip all the fuss and go straight to what we know we’re going to be doing for the rest of our lives?”

“Because- because- because what if it’s not the rest of our lives? What if you stop loving me?”  _ ‘Like Susan did’ _ is left unsaid, but I can hear it echo in the vulnerable tone of Brian’s voice. 

I lean forward until our foreheads are touching, our eyes closed. I want to say  _ ‘I’ll never stop loving you’ _ but it would just as empty as if he’d promised me he’d never die. Instead, I place a kiss on the tip of his nose and wrap my arms around him tightly. “I can see our forever,” I whisper, every sound in the cab seeming too loud. “I’d like to claim it with you.” 

His eyes are deep, and a small tear slides out of one. I kiss it away and take a breath. “But I understand. I- to me, marriage is just- I don’t know. A thing that’s done, and then we get to the cool part. The part where you and I get to sleep together, even on not Susan nights, and bicker lovingly over who’s going to get up and cook pancakes, and it’s always going to be you because everyone will disown me if I do it, so I’m always going to be the one that does the dishes, and I’m okay with that, because once I get them going, I’m going to grab my knitting and tuck up beside you on the couch and spend the rest of our lazy Sunday together, like the lazy Sunday before that, and the lazy Sundays that stretch into the future.” 

The look on Brian’s face is hard to interpret. Love is there, of course, but the anxiety hasn’t dissipated. “I really want that,” he whispers. “That’s- that’s what I want, and if I lose that again, I don’t know how I’ll handle it. That’s- it takes my breath away.” 

“Baby,” I murmur, kissing his brow, wanting to be so tender and gentle with him. “I- I don’t want to worry you, but I think that’s going to happen whether we get married or not. Rings on our fingers don’t change who we are.” 

“You sound like you’re arguing against it, now.” 

I stroke over his beard, absolute honesty on my face. “It just sounds like maybe you’re trying to convince yourself to cut your losses now, before I end up hurting you.” 

He’s silent, and my heart stops. 

“Brian?”

He meets my eyes again. “That’s not what I want to do.” 

“You sure?” I ask, because I am stupid and also because I have to know he’s serious.

He shakes his head, then nods, then smiles a little at me. “I love you. And I love your vision for us. I’d be so incredibly happy if that was the rest of my life.”

I let myself smile back hopefully. 

“So no, I’m not going to cut my losses. When has that ever worked with you?” He laughs, and my heart finally starts beating at a normal pace again, hearing that. I love his booming laugh so much. “I’m going to go with the best Harding-Hudson tradition we have: I’m going to double down. Yes, I’ll marry you. Yes, I’m going to trust that you- that history won’t repeat itself.” 

“I hope it doesn’t for me, either,” I murmur. 

His face softens. “Oh, Jared, honey.” He pulls me into his chest, tucking my head under his chin. I can hear his heartbeat here, and I love it. 

“That may have been part of the rush,” I mumble. “Life is so short. We don’t know, not really.” I’m silent for a moment, then shake my head against his chest. “I didn’t mean to pressure you, though.” 

His hand is rubbing up and down my back. It’s quite possibly the most comforting thing I’ve ever felt. “I haven’t once felt pressured. If you’d asked me in front of a bunch of people? Yeah, no, please god, don’t do that.  _ That’s _ pressure.” 

“True.” 

“I think what we have here is-”

“Please don’t say a failure to communicate. We actually did pretty good on this one, I think.” 

His laughter rumbles through his chest, and he kisses the top of my head. “No, not going to say that. What we have, I think, is a need for a compromise.” 

I sit up to meet his eyes, and he reaches down to link our fingers together between our bodies. He rubs over my long-empty ring finger. “I’m yours,” he says again, looking at my expectantly. 

“I’m yours,” I repeat back sincerely. 

“By the power vested in me as a general contractor by the state of Massachusetts-” 

I let out a little laugh of surprise, then tap him on the chest. “I don’t think it works that way, bucko.” 

“I now pronounce us - engaged, off the market forever and always, marriage pending,” Brian finishes, beaming at me. 

Happy, I lean in for a kiss, and linger through several more, until it gets just cold enough in the cab that I shiver a little. 

“Want to head home?” Brian asks, his voice rough. 

_ Home. _ “Yeah,” I reply, kissing him soundly one last time before reluctantly scooting over and clicking back into my seat belt. 

He sets his hand on the keys to start the car, then looks back over at me. "And I think Susan can be a little more understanding about sleepovers."

I smile back and reach over to squeeze his thigh in acknowledgement and appreciation. 


	8. Happy Birthday - rated T

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian has an accident while working in his shop. It's a very slice of life chapter.
> 
> CW: blood, injury, hospital. Hurt/comfort but everyone is fine at the end. 
> 
> It's my birthday week so I figured I'd give myself the gift of spending some more time with my current favorite boys, Brian and Jared. And cause I can, it's Brian's birthday, too (although it's not september in fic). 
> 
> Still no smut in this one. I kept trying to make it happen but it just wasn't going to happen. 
> 
> Also Jared and Daisy bonding time.

“Okay, so then we need to add the wet ingredients, no, Jared-” Daisy snorts and pulls my hand back before I can mess up the cake batter. “You really  _ are _ bad at this, aren’t you?”

I save the day, but just barely, as Daisy directs my bowl to the right place. “What, why did you think I asked you to help me make your dad’s birthday cake?”

Daisy shrugs. “I figured you were trying some type of bonding ritual. Which, you know, isn’t really necessary because I like you just fine and you and my dad are good together and Amanda is awesome-” She runs out of breath, then blushes. “Um.” 

I’m filled with a special kind of happiness. Daisy is a tough nut to crack - unless you’re a spunky teen whose name rhymes with panda, of course - and while I hadn’t been specifically aiming for ‘bonding ritual,’ I like knowing that Daisy likes me, too. I give her a little hip bump as she starts the hand mixer. “Well, yeah, quality bonding time, and also I am pretty bad at this. I mean, normally I like to say ‘it’s the thought that counts’ but I wanted this to be special for your dad. And special normally means edible. And pretty.” 

She grins back at me. “He’s going to love it.” 

Brian’s birthday is tomorrow, a Monday, so we’re celebrating tonight. Well, he’s celebrating right now, a whole day spent puttering in his shop, a dual gift from Daisy and I. We’re taking care of all the other Sunday necessities so he can have his time. We’re making a fun day out of doing the dishes and folding the laundry and getting lunches ready for the week, and Brian gets some quality dad alone time. And it’s not even two in the afternoon. Wins all around.

We’re pouring the chocolate batter into the cake pan when we hear the crash and groan from the workshop. The crash normally wouldn’t worry me, but the sound of pain has my pulse picking up. Daisy and I share a glance before we’re both rushing to the garage door. 

“Bri?” I say at the same time that Daisy calls out “Daddy?” in a worried voice. 

There is - I have to take a second to breathe -  _ a lot _ of blood. But Brian’s awake, and he’s got four limbs. I hear Daisy gasp next to me, then she’s pushing past me, grabbing a shop towel and moving Brian’s fingers away from where they’re clutching at his left arm. Half of my brain marvels at how quick she is at this, at thinking on her feet, and I feel a pang of pride, but the other half of my brain is in OH SHIT PANIC MODE and the pride, for the moment, is drowned out. 

I rush in to help - thankfully I’m not squeamish about blood - and Daisy and I carefully pry the towel away for a second to assess the situation. Oh god, that’s really  _ a lot _ of blood, and it’s deep, and gaping. The conclusion is obvious.

“That needs stitches. I’ll drive us to the hospital.” Now I’m proud of how cool, calm, and collected my voice is. “Keep holding that on there, baby,” I whisper to Brian. “Daisy, shoes, quickly. And turn off the oven.” Damn, I’m on a roll. 

She looks up at me, gives me a small nod of trust - christ, I’m going to have to digest  _ that _ later too - and rushes off to follow my orders. 

I keep one hand on the towel and another around Brian’s waist. He’s grumbling about being able to walk just fine, but I’m worried about blood loss and tell him to shut it. I think we’re both surprised by that. 

I grab the keys and slide into my loafers and then we’re packing into the car. I can feel my heart beating a mile a minute, and my gaze keeps sliding over to Brian - does he look pale? Tired? “What happened?” I finally ask. 

Brian makes a noise of self-derision. “I was about to install the glass on that cabinet for Hugo’s place, and I threw out my arm, and right into the edge of the pane, like an idiot.” 

Considering the other crazily-dangerous things Brian works with out there, and hell, for his work as well, it’s not the worst that could have happened. I’m glad I’m not picking pieces of his fingers up off the floor and taking them in in a baggie of ice. Not that I’d been thinking about that possibility. Every time I heard the table saw whir. Nope. 

At least I had the decency to choose knitting as a hobby. Not likely to  _ bleed out _ or lose an appendage from scissors or needles. 

I grip the steering wheel. “Not an idiot. Accidents happen. Everything’s going to be okay.” 

It’s enough of a role reversal for us that Brian side-eyes me with a small smile. I ungrip my fingers and reach out to give his thigh a little squeeze. He can’t capture my fingers, but he looks like he wants to.  

At the hospital, Daisy is fascinated. I think of Amanda at the same age, already a pro at hospitals when no kid should be, visiting Alex. I’m glad Daisy’s still holding onto that innocence. Innocent, true, but possibly… I watch her watch the nurses and the doctors come and go, eyes alert, taking in everything she can… yeah, Brian and I might possibly be watching the start of a real career interest for Daisy. It’s good, because watching Daisy watch everything is a distraction enough for Brian, even though his face is etched with pain. 

Triage deems us a medium emergency, but we’re shown to a room within twenty minutes, and seen a handful of minutes after that. 

The nurse practitioner is awesome with Daisy (and Brian, of course), letting her slide a chair up and watch as she stitches the wound closed. I stay on the other side, well away, and provide grounding for Brian. He watches my eyes and grips my hand, though they’ve numbed the wound so it’s not painful anymore. I get it. It’s still weird to watch someone work on you like that. I’m happy to be Brian’s focus point as he breathes through everything.

His fingers are rusty with blood, but I bring them to my lips anyway, and he gives me that small smile again. 

\------------------

I’m still learning things about my fiance. Like, for instance, he’s not great at letting the reins of control go and just being a patient. I’ve never seen him sick - although he took beautifully, wonderfully good care of me when I got the flu right before Christmas - but the stitches on his arm make him  _ miserable. _

We’re back from the hospital around five, and I push Brian down into his recliner despite his protests. “I  _ will _ sit on you, just to get you to stay,” I say, arching a brow. 

“That’s not really that much of a threat,” he mumbles. He seems tired, slumping down into the recliner seemingly despite himself. “I’m just going to sit here for a bit, and then I’ll help with dinner.” 

“Daisy and I got this,” I counter. “We were already going to make dinner anyway, for your birthday.” I push the TV remote into his good hand. “Here, watch some sports.” 

“I really needed to get that cabinet done this week. Hugo’s giving it to his mom for her birthday.” He pushes the leg rest back down and makes to get up. 

I flip the leg rest back out again, forcing him back down, and fold my arms over my chest. “Brian Harding, you are not setting  _ foot _ in that workshop for at least 48 hours, got it?”

He looks like he wants to argue, but instead he softens, mumbling a short apology and turning the TV on. 

I sigh and head into the kitchen, where Daisy is getting the cake stuff going again. The batter’s useless - I remembered to have Daisy turn off the oven so the house wouldn’t burn down, but I forgot to put the batter in the fridge - but Daisy’s already almost done with a second batch. Turns out she works pretty quickly when she’s not having to supervise me. 

Speaking of supervision. “Hey, Daisy, good news, I think he found some basketball. Bad news, we’re both going to have to make sure he doesn’t do anything silly with that arm, like, I don’t know, go back into the workshop. Think you can help me?”

She nods. “I mean, I’ll be at school for a lot of that time,” she says seriously, my literal girl. 

I tug lightly on one of her pigtails. “I’ll cover you. Nice thing about internet work, I can take it anywhere the internet goes. I’ll stay here tomorrow.” 

She smiles at me as she mixes batter. I wash the old pan out and slide it over for her, then pull out the ingredients for dinner. Even I can’t fuck up spaghetti. 

The pain meds are running out by the time dinner is done, and Brian’s being stubborn about taking another dose, saying he doesn’t want a fuzzy head. I don’t push him, just do my best to alleviate his discomfort. He seems tired and in pain as we open presents. Daisy got him a gift certificate to his favorite outdoors shop, and I’m springing for a weekend away on our one-year anniversary in a few months. 

By the time Daisy’s off to bed, Brian has faded, looking pale against the dark blue of the recliner. He doesn’t put up much of a fight as I pull him up out of the chair and shuffle him off to the bedroom. 

Brian groans before he starts pulling off his clothes, and only gets as far as lifting the hem of his shirt up a bit. “I feel gross,” he mutters. 

He  _ is _ a little gross - bloody, still, and sweaty from the workshop. “I could give you a bath,” I blurt out.

He looks at me, tired and amused. 

I shrug back. “We could cover your arm in a plastic bag, and take a shower, instead. I can get your back,” I say with a wink. “Or we could do a sponge bath, just use a washcloth and the sink, or-” 

He uses his good arm to pull me against him, then leans down until our foreheads are touching. “I love you. Like. A lot. You know that, right?” 

“I had an inkling,” I reply, blushing with pleasure. 

“Thank you for everything, today. Birthday stuff. Hospital stuff. I know that’s not your favorite place.” 

I shrug again. “Not going to stop me from taking care of you.” 

He brings his good hand up and loosens my bun, then runs his fingers through my hair. “I don’t always do great at being taken care of.” 

My lips twist sardonically. “I noticed.” I kiss his nose. “Don’t worry about it, Bri. I’ve got you.”  

We stay like that for a few minutes, all drawn up in each other, until I notice how clouded Brian’s eyes are. “Okay, how about this plan. A quick shower, with bag, then a pain pill, so you can get to sleep and also because then your head will only be hazy for sleep.” 

He looks simultaneously like he wants to kiss me and also like he wants to fall over in the bed and sleep. I settle for getting up on my tip toes and brushing a kiss across his forehead. “Be right back.” 

I hurry out of the room for a plastic trash bag, and when I return, Brian’s shirt is off and he’s working slowly, painfully on his pants. I brush his hands aside and efficiently get him disrobed, then disrobe myself. 

Brian’s master bath is a  _ dream. _ A wet dream, I’ve joked to him before, and he’d giggled and pulled me into the shower and used the little tiled bench inside to give me an amazing blow job. Yes, Dad Jokes™ _can_ be an aphrodisiac.  


This time, I push him down onto the seat gently, after I’ve figured out the whole bag situation and gotten the water warm. I love this shower - there are certainly advantages to being in love with a skilled contractor - and I’ve turned the head to a gentle spray before I bring Brian in. 

He has to hold his stitched arm up to stop water from going down the bag, but he smiles tiredly up at me as I gently soap up a washcloth and wash away the dried blood. I let him lean the arm against my body, and he’s got his forehead leaning against my thigh, and it’s one of the most tender and intimate moments I’ve ever had - and I’ve let guys inside my body, so, you know. 

I run my fingers through his hair for a quick wash, and scritch at his beard because it makes him laugh, and because I can. When we’re done, I take the towel from him and do it myself, and he barely protests. 

A pain pill and boxers later, he’s drifting in bed, and I slide in beside him. Normally I sleep on his left side, but that’s the side he hurt, so I keep my distance. 

He looks over at me, eyes a little hazy and a little hurt. He even manages to jut his bottom lip out as he looks down at the empty spot beside him. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I point out, a little exasperated and a lot amused as I put my glasses on the side table and everything around the room, including Brian, goes a little blurry. I can’t see his pout this way, but I can sense it. 

“I sleep better with you,” he rumbles. “It’s my birthday.” 

“Tomorrow’s your birthday.” But I throw back the covers and walk around to the other side of the bed, and wait as Brian scoots over. 

Soon enough, we’re settled back together. I’m cuddle into his right side, my head on his chest, his arm wrapped warmly around me. It’s not long before I feel the rise and fall of Brian’s chest begin to steady out as he slips into sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave me a comment for my birthday! lol (no pressure, seriously)


	9. Too Old for This - rated M

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jared and Brian wake up extremely hungover - and extremely married - in Las Vegas. 
> 
> For Day 6 of the February Ficlet Challenge: Accidental Marriage  
> One month. Twenty-eight prompts. Twenty-eight pairings. One ficlet a day. Write Fast.

“Oh my god, my head,” I groan, burying my face in the hotel pillow to hide from the minimal light being allowed in around the edges of the blackout curtains. My mouth is as dry as dust, but getting water would require movement, and movement meant my aching head would probably explode. 

There’s an accompanying grunt beside me, and at least I can take solace in the fact that I’m not the only one who got way too drunk for a responsible, reasonable, father in his early forties. Brian’s right here with me. 

We came to Vegas because Brian had a conference, and we’d decided to extend the trip a few days, since Daisy’s at her mom’s and Amanda’s at school. It’s a celebration of two years together, and plenty more to come. We haven’t set a date yet, but we’re practically married at this point, anyway. 

I scoot across the bed and bury my face in Brian’s arm, preferring it to the pillow, and fall right back asleep. 

 

When I wake later, it’s because Brian is sitting on the edge of the bed, thrusting a glass of water and some ibuprofen toward me. I grumble, but he’s insistent. “Cheers,” he says, his voice a little croaky, and oh, that might be my fault, I seem to remember Brian on his knees in front of me last night…

I gulp the water down, although gulping anything makes me very nauseated. “Sweetheart, we might just be too old for this.” 

Brian laughs, then winces and holds his head. “Yeah, no, you’re probably right.”  He finishes his water, then crawls back into bed and lays his head in my lap. It’s no hardship to card through his auburn hair. 

I sigh back against the headboard and let my eyes close again. I see flashes of the night before - dancing with Brian, grinding, getting filthy, really. Shots, too - right now the idea of vodka is more than a little nauseating. “Did I have you do body shots off of me?”

Brian grins up at me. “Yes, yes you did.” 

“My god. I’m  _ fifty _ years old.” 

He pinches my thigh. “One, you’re not. Two, if you’re age-shaming yourself, you’re age-shaming me, because I’m two months older than you. Three, shut up. I vaguely remember that at the time it was extremely hot.” 

I smile, still carding through his hair. “I love you a heck of a lot, you know that, right?”

“Hey, I’m glad we did the ‘sloppy drunk in Vegas’ thing. Now I  _ really _ know I want to marry you, if we can handle each other like that.” 

“True,” I say with a soft laugh. “But, uh, I wouldn’t mind not repeating that again any time soon.” 

“Agreed.” 

We sit there like that for a bit, breathing, settling, drifting a little. The water and the ibuprofen has taken the keen edge off the headache; it’s not pounding anymore. “We should maybe shower.” 

Brian grunts. Brian grunting is one of my favorite sounds, to be honest. 

“C’mon, bucko.” I tap his cheek lightly, and he sticks his tongue out at me. Age-shaming, indeed. Eventually, though, he rolls slowly off the bed so as not to upset his stomach, and helps me out of it. 

As we pass by the small business table that we’ve mostly been using to throw our stuff down on top of, some documentation catches my eye. I stop, even though Brian has his arm around my waist, and pick it up. “Issued by the State of Nevada…” I read aloud. 

Brian looks down sharply, reading over my shoulder.  _ “Marriage license?” _

“I don’t-”  _ That’s my signature, if a little sloppy. And Brian’s. _ I look up at him, worried. “What are you thinking?”

He’s silent for a moment as the implications set in, and I hold my breath the entire time, spiraling into panic.  _ Does he not want this? Is that why we haven’t set a date yet, because Brian doesn’t actually want to be married to me? Is he going to break up with me? Is he going to think this is my fault, that I convinced him to do it when he was vulnerable? _

I can’t stop the spiraling, and Brian must be able to see it on my face. Automatically, he pulls me back to the bed and sits me on his lap, slowly rubbing circles over my back. “Breathe, baby,” he murmurs, and holds me close until I take a few steady breaths. “That’s good, Jared, really good. How are you feeling?”

“How are you so  _ calm?” _ I practically cry out. “You didn’t want this- you didn’t want-”

Brian leans into to brush a kiss over my lips. “Yes, I do. I do want this.” 

“You do?” I whisper.

“I do,” he vows, his lips twisting up in a smile, and it makes me laugh. 

“Are you sure?”

“Are  _ you _ sure?”

“Of course I am!”

He grins. “Well, so am I.” He picks me up, carries me to the bathroom. “Daisy and Amanda might be disappointed.” 

“Whatever,” I say, reaching down to turn on the shower. “I’ll take Amanda out for some ice cream and she’ll be fine.” 

“I’ll just remind Daisy that this means she gets a sleepover with Amanda every time she comes home from college.” 

“Oh, yeah, that’s a big selling point.” I lean into Brian’s hands as he soaps up my hair. 

He leans me back into the spray, smiling at me when I come back, hair rinsed. It’s a nice vision to open my eyes to. “We’re going to catch so much shit in the cul de sac.” 

“Yeah. You know, we could just not tell them. I move in with you, they’re not going to suspect we got married. And then, we just...never do.” I snicker at the thought. “It’ll drive them all crazy.” 

“I love your devious mind,” he says, a little garbled because he’s rinsing his own hair out at the moment. 

I slip my arms around him, leaning my head against his chest to listen to his heartbeat. His arms circle me, and hold me tightly. “It doesn’t really feel any different, except that I can feel this happiness bubbling up inside me that just keeps growing. I love you so fucking much, and now you’re my  _ husband.” _

“And now you’re  _ my _ husband.” He rocks me, just a little, like we’re dancing in the shower, and not dirty like last night, but slow and sweet, ballroom style. “And now that it’s done, I’m not sure what I was holding off for.” 

“Happened at the perfect time, I think.” 

“Definitely. Because we’ve still got two more days in Las Vegas. Now we can have a proper honeymoon.” 

“I don’t really feel like leaving the hotel room,” I complain, smiling. 

He waggles his eyebrows. “I wasn’t thinking of leaving the hotel room either.” 

I laugh, and pull him down for a kiss. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm @animalasaysrauer on tumblr. Comments and kudos mean the world to me! Thank you!


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